Breathe
by qfd
Summary: Two brothers, as close and as competative as brothers can be. Two of four. One a blonde, on a ginger and both with piercing blue eyes. I never meant for this to happen, you have to believe me.
1. Chapter 1

_Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt.  
Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve.  
But people are people,  
And sometimes it doesn't work out,  
Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall out._

(words Taylor Swift from Breathe)

**Taboo****. Definition: **A moral or cautionary restriction placed upon certain actions by authorities (kings, priests, shamans, etc.) of a people, which if ignored will result in specific negative consequences. In virtually all human cultures there are **taboos** against specific sexual practices. These prohibitions derive mainly from religious beliefs and long-established traditional beliefs and social customs.

**Prologue**

First I want to say that I never wanted this. This was never, _ever_ my intention. It might not look like it, but I swear that I'm the innocent party in all of this.

Both men have the same piercing blue eyes. One is blonde, the other a carrot top. Two years apart, they're as close as brothers can be and more competitive than most. I know I should have seen it, should have realized, but sometimes I can be a little slow on the uptake.

Besides, I was drunk; very, _very_ drunk.

I know that as a defense, it's not one I should rely on in court. Out of anyone I should know that, but it's the only one I have.

Plus I was on vacation, and you know how the saying goes. C'mon, say it with me:

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Or at least I thought it had.

So I was wrong. Sue me.

Look, I could try and explain why I'm standing between two brothers who look like they're getting ready to rip each other apart, but I think I'd be better off trying to explain it from the beginning. The _very_ beginning, when I was still innocent.

Well not _innocent_ but at least from the point when I could have still plead innocence and gotten away with it. Let's put it that way.

It started out with a girls' weekend, some drinking, some dancing and some major shopping. We were staying at Caesar's Palace and I'd just bought this super cute little metallic number and a pair of killer Prada boots….

**Chapter 1 ~ Burn It To The Ground**

Like the man in the song says, 'I got a fist full of fifties, Tequila just hit me'. I'd won a little on the slots earlier while I was waiting for Miki to finish talking to her boyfriend back home and I was happy to spend my winnings right away. What you win in Vegas stays in Vegas. I'm sure that's some kind of rule.

Anyway, flashing a wad of fifties and being pretty much the hottest bitches in a bar gets you VIP service. That's a tip by the way. The bouncers had ushered us to a roped off area where there was an assortment of tall, handsome, well dressed men already well into their cups. I didn't even mind if they'd pointed us out on the dance floor. Like I said, Miki and I were by far the hottest bitches in the place and besides, I'd been pretty much dancing with a bottle of Patron, as I hadn't seen a single guy tall enough or what I'd consider hot enough to dance with.

You see I'm pretty picky when it comes to men and it's not just because I think I'm hot. I mean, I know I'm hot and I'm not saying that because I'm conceited. I can't walk past a construction site without work coming to a complete halt and I am that girl that guys whistle at from the windows of moving cars. But I'm also damn near six feet in bare feet and when you're that girl, your dating pool gets considerably shallow.

I know, you wouldn't think so. I mean, they say that we, as human beings, are getting taller with each passing generation, but a lot of the guys that are tall enough to make me feel really girly, you know where you fit into that spot where a guy can put his chins on the top of your head, are younger than me, or taken, or gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

So when the bouncer ushers us in the direction of an entire group of six foot plus guys that look like they actually work out and have enough money to buy designer threads, well momma was in her element, if you get my drift.

Now I don't say that because I'm a snob. Well made clothes are a good investment. You can buy cheap shit if you want, but if you invest in good pieces, they'll last. It's not always true, but often you do get what you pay for and I have an eye for these things. I haven't been a personal shopper at Holts for most of my young life for no reason. People respect my ability to put together pieces that look good on them, and most of these guys looked good, _really_ good and I was pretty sure it wasn't just because I'd already downed half the bottle of Patron all on my own.

They all looked good, but there was one of them, a tall blonde one with these steely blue eyes that gave me this look that just said 'I'm thinking about you naked right now' that just plain did it for me. Not that he even tried to talk to me. He didn't even want to dance with me. They put that Hinder song on 'Up All Night', and I did that drunk girl thing where I screamed and grabbed Miki and the nearest guy and dragged them out on the floor. I didn't even really dance with that guy either. I sort of danced around him, used him like a stripper's pole, grinding and getting really, really low, shimmying and shaking what my momma gave me and all the time the tall blonde one with the Steven Tyler lips and the John Travolta cleft chin just kept staring at me like he was picturing me us doing things...naked.

Normally, if I was just out shopping or walking to work or something, a guy looking at me like that would make me go all 'ick gross' but with half a bottle of Patron in me and being in holiday mode along with the fact that he was really wearing his jeans well and the muscles in his chest and arms were straining against the thin cotton of his long sleeved tee…well, let's just say I wasn't exactly thinking clearly.

I'm also not the type of friend who would normally abandon her girlfriends at a club and just leave with some random guy, but again, I wasn't exactly my usual self. So when I stumbled off of the dance floor, in desperate need of something cold to drink and some ice to drop down into my bra and Blondie walked up to me and said something along the lines of 'I want to fuck your brains out', I didn't think about Miki or about the fact that we had to catch a plane the next morning. I just followed him out of the club.

I do that when I'm three sheets to the wind. I'll follow people. It's a bad and a dangerous habit. He could have been an axe murderer for all I knew. Of course he wasn't, but I didn't know that at the time.

What I did know was that he had really big hands with long fingers and that I almost had to run to keep up with his long strides. I also knew, as soon as I heard the metallic whoosh of the elevator door closing behind us, that he definitely was prepared to back up the steamy looks he'd been giving me in the club.

Now some people can get very drunk and wake up the next morning and are blessed with no memory of what they did the night before. As if the men in black walked up to them with that little memory stick eraser thing and just wiped their memory clean. I am not blessed with that gift. I can get puking my guts out, falling down, passing out drunk and still remember everything that happened the night before. You would think that would stop me from doing stupid shit, but no, it doesn't, especially not after downing several shots of 151 or Tequila.

So while some of the memories of that night, like getting to the club or exactly how I got that bottle of Patron, may be a little hazy, the way Blondie pulled me to him and pressed his lips over mine, leaving me weak kneed and entirely at his mercy, are etched in my brain and probably will be until the day I die.

Firstly, I'm a sucker for a guy that can actually do that, pretty much pick me up and move me. It's part of that height thing. There just aren't that many guys that can do it. Blondie, on the other hand, in no time at all, had me up against the wall of the elevator with his tongue down my throat and his hand in my panties without even seeming to put out any effort at all and I have to say, I was impressed, I'll admit it. I remember thinking something along the lines of 'damn, he's strong' shortly followed by 'oh look little old lady in a leisure suit is going to have a stroke' as I looked over his shoulder at an old couple pulling their matching oxygen tanks onto the elevator. They didn't seem to faze Blondie, however. He just grinned and dragged me past them, politely saying hello while I stumbled behind him down the hall.

I also remember, very clearly, that while he turned to lock the door, putting the dead bolt on in an attempt to keep out his roomies that I really wanted to take my boots off. Being new they were hurting my feet but I couldn't quite figure out what to do with my bottle or how to take them off using only one hand. Mr. Take Charge; however, took the bottle out of my hand and took a long swig from it, which caused me to take a long look at his long thickly muscled neck that I decided I needed to make like a vampire and bite.

I wish I could say the rest was a blur, but it's not. My memory of it is like the best porn film ever made and all I have to do is close my eyes and I can bring it all back.

We destroyed that hotel room. He had me against the wall and I ended up kicking over one of the lamps. He had me against the TV stand and I remember hearing the door crack behind me as he shoved me against it. He even had me on that little table they put in the corner, which I assume is for eating room service on, although I've never done more than use it to put my purse on in Vegas, and he was the one who kicked the chair out of the way, sending it into the wall, leaving a scuff mark and dent where it bounced off. We even ripped the sheets, which I don't think you can say was really all our fault, considering how tightly the maids had made the hospital corners. All I know was we couldn't really get them off and we kept sliding around on the satiny quilt cover and we got a little impatient. At some point I even bit through one of the pillow covers.

They even sent security sometime during it all, to check and see if he _was_ an axe murderer I guess, and we both had to come to the door and say that we were both happy to be there, although there was really no second guessing how happy he was and I remember laughing and pulling the towel he'd grabbed for modesty's sake off of him to prove my point.

Of course that only started it all over again, which is when the phone got knocked onto the floor and the bedside table was turned into kindling. Even the wall sconces above the bed weren't safe. I pulled one of them completely out the wall while hanging onto it for dear life, and the other, well the glass part was knocked off and must have hit something because it got broken too.

By the time he finally cried uncle, declared me the winner and was lying fast first on the remaining pillow declaring himself dead, the room looked like it had been turned over by professional thieves. That, or a hurricane had been through. That's when he asked me my name.

I was going to lie but decided against it. For one thing, I was going home in the morning and there just didn't seem much point, and for another, I'd decided that he was probably be an American anyway and there wasn't much point in exchanging phone numbers, no matter how earth shattering and life altering the sex had been.

So I just didn't tell him, and held both hands over his mouth when he tried to tell me his. 'No names' I'd said, stretching my aching limbs out beside his and closing my eyes, just for a few minutes. He'd laughed and shook his head and pulled my body into his, his knees fitting perfectly into the back of mine, his body curling around mine like it was meant exactly for that purpose. It felt nice. I do remember that.

I also remember all too well sneaking out of the room, leaving him with the disaster and the bill for the damage no doubt, carrying my new Prada boots and trying to ignore the appalled and dismayed looks from the early risers, again, all blue rinse biddies no doubt heading down to start tossing their pension cheques at the nickels slots early.

I'm not saying I'm proud of that night but I'm not exactly ashamed of it either. I'm not normally the kind of girl that would just hop into bed with some random guy but there was something about him, something about the way he was looking at me, mixed in with a fair amount of liquor, that just did it for me that night. Plus, and this is a big plus, it was definitely, hands down, no arguments the best sex I've ever had in my entire life…period.

Not that I think about it all the time. I mean, yeah, I've woken up in a cold sweat more than once, my entire body shuddering from the force of the sense memory, but I don't think about it all the time and the only other person, other than the guy and probably all of his friends, who knows about that night is Miki and she's my best friend and she's sworn to secrecy.

So after my walk of shame and Miki sort of rolling her eyes at me for a couple of days afterward, I put that night behind me and tried to go on with my life but I couldn't quite leave it behind me. You see, it did sort of make it hard for me to date after that. Not that dating has ever been that easy for me. Like I said, I'm tall for a girl so my pool of men to draw from is a bit small, but now I had the added issue of looking for that same sort of heat in another man and I just wasn't finding it.

At least not until Miki and I had both applied for job transfers to New York. Did I mention that I love the fashion industry? Well I do but mostly because it's helped pay my way through a crazy hard course to be a legal assistant and taken a load of shit jobs in a bunch of law firms until I found one that would get me out of this town and into the big bad world and put a few thousand miles between me and my family.

I'd been in the Big Apple for about a month, living in a tiny two bedroom apartment that was nothing like those huge places they had on Friends (as if anyone in New York could really afford apartments that big on any of their salaries!!), when one of the other assistants set me up on a blind date.

That's when things starting turning around for me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2~Can't Help Falling in Love**

"You do know that not all Canadians know each other, right?" I grin, leaning back against the filing cabinet, monitoring the copier while Ryan, my new favorite associate, pokes through the files.

"Ha ha," he mumbles, not even sparing me a glance while he pulls out files and stacks them on top of the filing cabinet. "Do you want to go or not?"

"To Ramsey's new restaurant? Of course I want to go," I reply, grabbing a stack of sheets fresh out of the finisher and adding them to them my own files before setting a new stack in the document feeder and pressing the green start button. "I just want to know what else you think I might have in common with this hotty? I mean, aside from the fact that we're both Canadian?"

"I just thought you both might be a little homesick, it might be good for you guys to talk about canoes and ice flows," Ryan replies sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at me before returning to his task.

"You're hilarious, really. But seriously…promise me he's hot, because so far all the guys you've been setting me up with look like rejects from the Living Dead movies," I complain, visualizing all the unfortunate dates I've been on since hitting the Island. New friends are one thing. New friends are good, but they also get that look once they get to know you and that's when the questions start; or at least they do in my experience, with 'why are you still single?' topping the list.

"Well he's rich and he's a professional athlete, so what else do you need to know?" Ryan asks, pushing one of the drawers closed with a flourish before picking up his stack of folders and turning back to me, expectant, as if he's waiting for me to bounce up and down and clap my hands with glee. First of all, I'd never do that. That would be degrading, and besides, I've never been a cheerleader so I don't think I've ever actually done that. Secondly, after the list of emaciated actors and starving dancers he's paired me up with lately, I'm not exactly ready to trust his opinion.

"Rich…rich is good," I admit with a shrug, "but if by professional athlete you mean he's some big 'roid abusing pro wrestler or something…."

"Okay, maybe some of the guys I've been setting you up with were more my taste…."

"_Some_ of the guys Ryan?"I ask, raising an eyebrow and rolling my eyes.

"Okay well, I promise, this is just what the doctor ordered. Tall, six four, two hundred pounds, pure muscle or so I'm told," Ryan adds with a wink, "and apparently not even _slightly_ inclined towards the arts. Although what's wrong with Mama Mia, I swear I do not know."

"He doesn't like Abba?" I ask, hiding my grin behind my hand, but too late, Ryan's already seen it.

"Et tu Bruté?" he sighs, leaning the back of his hand against his forehead and turning his back on me, sighing dramatically as he leaves the copy room. I watch him go, laughing to myself and shaking my own head, before returning to my task with thoughts of a quick shopping trip after work filling my head.

* * *

Personally I'm not a blind date person. Back at home I wouldn't let anyone set me up on a date. Not for all the tea in China, and I've been there. There's a lot of tea. But in the Big Apple, I'm out of my element. I've got to know the people at the firm, but there's a strict no inter office dating policy so no matter how cute the lawyer or articling student, they're strictly off limits and after my little incident during the summer, I've decided against picking up guys in bars.

So here I am, at the London, sitting at one of those white linen draped tables, wondering who I'm waiting for. It's like a guessing game and I can't believe I didn't get more information out of Ryan.

Of course I'm also wondering just what in the hell Ryan's told this guy, if anything. Friend of a friend my ass, as I stare into the martini in front of me I start to wonder if he's ever even met the guy. Don't get me wrong, in the time I've known him I've come to adore the bones off the guy but I can't exactly see Ryan as the hanging out with jocks kind of guy. Drooling over them with me, yeah, absolutely, but I just can't see him as knowing any, personally.

Still, I know two things. Six foot four and two hundred pounds and looking around the restaurant, the only guy so far that fits that description is the bartender and somehow I don't see a professional athlete moonlighting as a bartender and having a blind date all at the same time. Multitasking is good, but that would be just crazy.

"Are you…Tippi?" I smile to myself before I ever turn around. I like the guy already. The hesitation in his deep voice tells me that he's wondering if he's got the name wrong, or maybe even if it's some kind of joke. Turning I look up into a pair of eyes the colour the Prarie sky on a summer's day and a shock of read hair.

"It's short for Nathalie. Well no, that's not really right, it's short for tupso which is some kind of Swedish cutesy thing," I reply by way of explanation as I push myself up to my feet, finding myself just short of his height in my heels, which seems, if his shy smile is anything to go by, to please him.

"I'm Marc," he replies, very business like as he takes my hand in his and gives it a firm but not too firm shake and I decide I like him even more. Most men do that very limp wristed shake, like because you're a woman your hand might break if they put a little '_umph'_ into it when the truth of the matter is, especially at my height my hands are usually not smaller than theirs. "Sorry if I've kept you waiting long. I kind of got lost." I raise my eyebrows at this as I watch him circle the small table and then sort of fold himself into the chair, bumping his knees under the table, just like I did, which makes me happy that I was here first.

"I thought you'd been here for a couple of years?" I ask, watching as the cheeks in his long narrow face turn a bright shade of pink.

"Well yeah but…I order in a lot?" he says, offering an explanation that it looks like he wants me to believe and because he doesn't say it in that smarmy, you must believe me kind of way, I actually buy what he's selling.

"Yeah, this city is crazy crowded, am I right?" I offer, wondering if he feels the same way I do. I thought Vancouver was a big city once upon a time. That was before my parents made me visit China. Now there is crowded. Manhattan is bad, but Hong Kong is worse.

"Very, especially when I think about home. Thunder Bay," he adds reaching for the wine menu and I have a moment to wonder if I've already intimidated him and he's going to start drinking heavily, but then he signals for the sommelier and orders a very expensive, very good bottle of red wine and I decide that I like this Marc, very much.

* * *

"I've always wanted to do this," I grin as he gives me a hand up into the carriage, pulling me down onto the padded seat beside him and smoothing the blanket down over our laps.

"Well…you see it in movies and uh…it seems like a good idea," he agrees, the tips of his ears turning pink and, as I've discovered over the past few of hours, that's a pretty good indication that Marc is either embarrassed or he's thinking about something embarrassing and right now, as his hand reaches for mine under the blanket, I'm hoping it's the latter.

"So you're trying to tell me in the two years you've been here, you haven't taken a bunch of other women on this ride Marc?" I ask, biting down on my bottom lip to stop myself from actually laughing when his entire face turns pink and he looks away. The man is just too damn cute for words.

"I was going to, once," he explains, his fingers slipping off of my own, like he can't hold my hand and tell me this, "but uh…my girlfriend from home, from Thunder Bay…she didn't like the idea of the horses walking on pavement and stuff."

I've had one martini and two glasses of wine, so I'm not drunk but I suddenly realize that I feel jealous when he says girlfriend. I have visions of some Dutch milk maid with braids gazing up at him and I want to scratch her fucking eyes out. Reaching over for his hand, I lace my fingers with his and look up into those sky blue eyes of his and smile.

"I'm not really an animal person." Grinning he looks young and boyish and it's all I can do to stay where I am and not climb into his lap and ravage him. Instead I do nothing as I watch him lean forward to pay the driver (do you call a guy with a whip and a horse a driver?), watching his long fingers with a sort of hypnotic stare that has everything to do with my over active imagination and nothing to do with the fifty in his hand.

"So…law firms…that sounds busy?" he asks, settling back into the seat beside me, his wide shoulder touching mine, his long thigh brushing mine.

"Yeah, busy, but it's just an office except that everyone's educated up the wazoo," I laugh, glancing over at this strong features, high prominent cheekbones, long, sharp jaw, broad wide forehead. "So…hockey," I say, taking him back to the topic of conversation I've tried to have twice now, which he's somehow managed to change on me. Even now I can see just the hint of a smile on his lips but his eyes sort of glaze over as he shrugs. "Do you fight?" I ask, trying another angle.

"I guess, once or twice," he shrugs, his gaze wandering towards the streetlights as the carriage turns into the park.

"Did you win?" I ask, giving his hand a little squeeze and pressing my shoulder firmly against his. He smiles, showing me a line of perfectly straight, white teeth as he shrugs.

"I'm not really a fighter," he laughs, "that's not really my thing."

"So that's a no," I tease him, giving him another playful shove to which he only rolls his eyes and laughs.

"Yeah I kinda suck at it, just ask my brothers," he laughs as he turns to me, his eyes shining in the reflected light of the streetlights. I know he's going to kiss me before he does it, and I feel my heart leap in my chest as he leans in, his handsome features blurring as I turn my lips up to his.

I'll have to remember to bring Ryan a white mocha _**and **_a donut in the morning.

* * *

"That must have gone well," Miki yawns from the spot on the couch where she's curled up with one of her books balanced on her knees, a cup of steaming hot tea in her hand. "Considering your reservations were for six thirty."

"Mmm," is the only answer I give as I drop into the chair across the room, feeling boneless and too happy to speak. That and my lips are still tingling from the press of his mouth on mine and I'm sort of unwilling to give that feeling up right away.

"So not another unnourished actor I take it, by the fact that there isn't some mangy, skinny pale guy in our kitchen right now raiding the refrigerator?" she adds with a raise of her eyebrow. I shake my head as I smile across the room and know I don't have to say anything to her. She can see it plain as day in my face. "Oh my god…you're finally over it aren't you?"

"Mmm?" I ask, scrunching up my nose and narrowing my eyes.

"Summer fun," she sighs, tilting her head to one side. "Whoever he is, he must have made it past the chemical comparison test."

"Oh he's so hot Mik…tall, built, and a pure gentleman," I sigh, using my voice at last and realizing that I don't entirely lose the feeling of his lips pressed to mine as I speak.

"Gentleman?" she asks, closing her book and putting her cup down before kicking the afghan onto the floor and crossing the room to tilt my chin up, exposing what I can only guess by feel of it is a livid bite mark over my carotid. "Gentleman?" she asks again, shaking her head and tilting my head the other way. She won't find anything on that side, or anywhere else.

"Yes, he was a perfect gentleman. We made out in the carriage for like an hour and then he walked me home, asked for my number and kissed me good night. That's it. A perfect gentleman," I grin up at her, to which she smiles back down at me and kisses me in the middle of the forehead.

"I'm glad. It's about time you had someone treat you well," she says in her motherly sort of toner before going back to her place on the couch, gathering her tea and her book before turning back to me. "Does he have a name, this gentleman of yours? I mean, just so I know when you're gushing over your egg mcmuffin tomorrow morning?"

"Marc. With a 'c'," I add, feeling like clapping my hands and jumping up and down. Funny that.

"Marc what?" she asks, raising her eyebrow at me, but I only shrug.

"I don't know. He didn't ask me, I didn't ask him. I didn't even get to ask him what team he plays for or even if it's an affiliate or farm tea," I sigh, but keep grinning just the same. "Not that it matters. We have another date Saturday."

"Do you now? Well…let me know if I need to get a hotel room or something," she calls over her shoulder, shaking her head as she drags her blanket behind her down the hallway.

"I will," I call after her, lifting my fingers to my lips and hoping that will happen sooner, rather than later. If he can do other things as well as he kisses….hot-diggity-dog.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 ~ We Go Together**

"What is it this time bro? You need to know how to wash skid marks out of your ginch?"

"Ha ha, very funny Jarhead, just put Mom on the phone," I mumble, trying to ignore my youngest brother's remarks. We'll see how good he is at looking after himself next year when it comes time for him to be doing his own laundry and cooking his own food.

"Hey honey, what's up?" my Mother's bright and cheerful voice on the other end of the line makes me smile. I admit, albeit grudgingly, that I'm a Momma's boy. I'll also admit that yes, maybe I should have paid a little bit closer attention when it came to every day things back at home, but at least I know my Mom won't ever rub that in even if my brothers will- endlessly. Tapping my credit card against my desk, I scroll down the list of shows as I try to figure out the best way of asking this question without getting the full Mom treatment.

"I was thinking of going to a show, a Broadway show, and I just wondered which one you think would be good?" As soon as I get the words out I can hear the wheels turning in my Mother's brain. If any of her sons were to go to a Broadway show, it would probably be Eric and then only because Tanya made him do it.

"Are you going with some of the guys?" my Mom finally asks, but I can tell just by the tone of her voice that she knows better but she's just looking for confirmation.

"No." Not that I need to give her that confirmation.

"Well if it's for a date Marc, I need to know a little bit about the girl," she begins and I can hear the smile in her voice. My Mom just loves this. She can't wait for us all to be married off and supplying her with a never ending source of grandbabies.

"Just…which is a good one Mom? I mean if you were coming to town, which one would you make dad go to?" I ask, tapping my card a little more impatiently on my desk, wishing that I'd phoned Tanya instead. I still would have had the third degree but I might not have felt quite so…embarrassed. The only problem with that idea is I knew damn well it would get back to my Mom anyway and then she would have been pissed that I hadn't asked her. Jordy's right, sometimes you just can't win with women.

"Well that sort of depends Markie. I mean, does she like musicals? Or would she rather see a play? That's something you should know up front. Tanya and I were thinking about seeing Momma Mia the next time you were both playing but this girl might not like that type of music. Maybe you could tell me a little more about her?" There it is. The trap and she's sprung it on me. Not that I didn't expect it, I just am still undecided about what, exactly to say about Tippi, and that's a problem, because even thinking about her name, well her nick-name, makes me smile and if I let on about that, my Mom will be on the next plane out of Thunder Bay with a list of baby names under her arm.

"I don't know Mom. She's just a girl I met. I don't really know too much about her yet but I thought a show would be, you know, a good thing to do on a date." There. That's my planned speech, and none of it a lie, exactly. I've actually done a little research on Natalie Tang, but for now I'm keeping that to myself.

"Well where did you meet her? What does she do? You must know something about her Marc. I didn't raise any of you to just go out with just anyone." I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from telling her if that's what she thinks she had better do a better job of looking out for Jordan, and her youngest Jared, but I don't say that out loud. You don't rat on your brother, not even to your mom.

"I don't know Mom, like I said, I don't really know a lot. She works at a law firm in Manhattan, she's Canadian, and I like her." I don't need to actually see her to know that my Mom is grinning at the other end of the line. The one thing my Mom is worried about is a gold digger getting a hold of her precious little boys and just letting her know that Tippi is a professional with a good job and better yet that she works in Manhattan which means it's a very well paying job, will put her mind at ease.

"Well you could just ask her you know Marc. If she's got a nice job in the city, she probably has her own mind." I roll my eyes and shake my head but am careful not to take a deep breath or give away my frustration in a way that my Mom will hear it. I didn't call to pick a fight. "Or you could pick a comedy. If you don't know much about her, that's good neutral territory." Breathing a sigh of relief I look over my own short list which contains Rock of Ages, an 80s Prom and My First Time. I've decided against the SpiderMan one, which I think would be okay to go to with Jared but definitely doesn't look like a date night type of show to me. "Oh but I did see something on Oprah today, let me just look at that again." I can hear my Mom sorting through papers and try to ignore it, deciding against My First Time as too much for a second date and seriously considering Rock of Ages. "There's an Addams Family show with Nathan Lane, that's supposed to be very good. You should try that, although now it's been on Oprah…."

"I'll figure it out. Thanks Mom. I'll talk to you tomorrow," I promise, although I probably don't have to. After this, she's going to check in with me as early as she dares tomorrow, probably just to make sure I'm in my own bed and as tempting as the thought is, unlike Jared and Jordan, I take after Eric when it comes to women. I respect them too much to just turn everything into a one night stand.

"Love you honey," she says, just like she does every time I leave her or say good bye. It's comforting, like getting tucked in with a favorite teddy bear, although I'd never admit it to anyone, least of all Jordan. He laughs every time she does it around him, as though it's just the biggest joke, her making a fuss over all of us now that we all four tower over our parents.

"Love you too Mom," I reply, and hang up the phone, aiming the mouse and clicking on buy tickets.

* * *

"Oh my god that was so good!" Tippi hisses, clutching at my arm as we weave our way through the crowd heading back out to the street. I'd agree with her, but I missed most of the show. I was too preoccupied with watching her. She was like a kid as soon as the lights went down in the theatre, all eager and sitting at the edge of her seat, her eyes glued to the stage. Which was a good thing because she's totally unlike a kid in her low cut black dress that swings enticingly around her knees when she walks but rides up her milky white thighs when she sits. I'm glad I decided to wear a suit tonight as well, or I'd be feeling very under dressed around her. Even now, while we're just walking out of the theatre, she turns heads, but hardly seems to notice it. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I can't stop looking at her and the big infectious grin she's wearing on her face.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I reply honestly, knowing I'll have to thank my mother for helping me choose the show tomorrow.

"Nathan Lane is so funny and Bebe Neworth was perfect don't you think? She looked great in that slinky black dress," she gushes, steering me towards one of the posters in the foyer. I glance at the poster but I know I'll be having dreams later about Tippi in that particular costume, and out of it.

"Do you want to get some coffee?" I ask, reaching for her hand, feeling a certain amount of satisfaction when her long fingers lace easily with mine.

"I don't really drink coffee," she whispers, like it's a state secret, her lips close enough to my ear that I can feel her breath warm on my cheek, "but I'll take a hot chocolate." I nod, smiling to myself as I steer her out onto the street. I like that she doesn't try and pretend she doesn't eat, and even better that she isn't one of those girls that says she isn't hungry, doesn't order anything and then picks at your food because she's hungry. I didn't really notice it the other night, but tonight, when she was eating the foie gras she'd ordered, she actually was enjoying it so much that the women at the other tables around us were shooting us dirty looks, like maybe I was doing something to her under the table to make her make those noises. I kind of wish I had been but at least I know she likes her food, and she likes her wine and now, it turns out, she likes chocolate too.

What a girl.

Maybe I'm too busy thinking about the way her body sort of tucks into mine that I don't think about where we end up, but I know it's a mistake the minute we walk in the door and I hear a chorus of 'hey Marc' and 'hey Staalsie'. I groan a little, wincing at the recognition so near the rink, the Rangers favorite Starbucks on the way to and from the game, but Tippi only looks up at me with this sort of wide eyed look before she giggles behind her hand and mutters something about Norm.

Yeah, well, there is something to be said for going somewhere where everybody knows your name and you don't have to even order your drink, by the time you get to the head of the line, it's waiting for you.

I add her venti supreme hot chocolate with whip and then steer her to a table, one of the ones with the comfy overstuffed chairs before I turn back to gather our drinks and pay for them, ignoring the sharp looks from one of the baristas, my one mistake. I was new in town, she was pretty…pretty stupid as it turned out and there's a reason she'll never be anything better than a good barista.

"She's new," Alison chimes in as I hand over a twenty. I don't meet her gaze. I find that it's a tactic that works with rapid dogs and angry mother raccoons as well.

"Just the change Aly," I mutter. The last thing I want to have happen tonight is some kind of cat fight. I can hear the chanting in my head already, my brothers urging them on, but that's not me. I don't want a scene, I don't want to draw more attention to myself and besides that, I've seen Tippi's guns. I'm pretty sure she'd make short work of her.

"What is she? Some kind of halfer? Oh no wait, that's heifer, my mistake. Did you run home and get yourself an overfed milk maid? Did us New York gals scare the shit out of the little ginger boy?" I cringe at the sarcastic comment only because it lands too close to home. There is definitely something to be said for her being as impressed and scared of the Big Apple as I am.

"Fuck it, keep the fucking change," I snap, taking the drinks and the two brownies I've ordered and heading for the table. "We should probably go somewhere else…," I explain, with a meaningful glance over my shoulder to where I know Alison is still standing making faces at my back.

"Oh don't you worry about a thing," Tippi smiles up at me, a million dollar all teeth smile that sends chills down my spine. She's seen everything and isn't the least bit worried. In fact, as I put the drinks down, she sheds her jacket and leans forward capturing my face in her hands and laying a long, wet kiss on me that leaves me weak kneed and blinking with surprise. "Mmm chocolate," she adds, her voice pitched so they'll hear as she breaks off a piece of the brownie and closes her eyes and starts those same noises she was making back at the restaurant that make me shift uneasily in my chair across from her. "Oh my god Marc, these are so good, you have to try one," she adds, getting up from her chair and crossing in front of the table before climbing into my lap, sliding her arm around my neck and offering a piece of the dark chocolate treat between her long, ivory fingers. I look up into her dark eyes and she winks, as if to say she knows exactly what she's doing, but I can't help thinking 'does she know what she's doing to me'?

She feeds me the treat, piece by piece, encouraging me to lick her fingers clean each time and bending to kiss away any crumbs, although I'm sure there's none considering her fingers seem to get inside my mouth each time and I'm having to think about cold days on the ice rink at home and Jordy's stinking shoulder pads, Eric's genormous wedgies and my mother's disapproving face, anything but the way her round little ass feels pressed against the boys.

"Mmm wasn't that good?" she asks finally, leaning in to run her tongue along my bottom lip, as if I've missed a bit or maybe just to drive me insane. Then she climbs off of me and grabs her cup, draping her jacket over her arm. "We can finish these at home Markie baby." I must look like a baby owl, looking up at her with wide, unblinking eyes, but she only looks back at me, her soft red lips pursed, as if to say 'I'm waiting' and I find myself scrambling to my feet, almost knocking over my own half fat latte in the process.

It's only when we're back out in the hustle and bustle of the street that she starts to laugh and I realize that I'm not actually going to be taking her home tonight. Far enough away from the coffee shop that we won't be seen, Tippi practically doubles over laughing and has to hand me her drink, which leaves me standing there with two cups in my hand while she howls at her own acting ability.

"Oh my god, you should have seen her face! Steam was practically coming out of her ears. Oh fuck, that was fun," she snorts, reaching for her drink again before hooking her arm through mine.

"I'd say that was a little mean, but…I guess you caught what she said," I add to which she covers her mouth again as she nods and lets her drink settle.

"She won't be calling me a heifer again soon, little bitch," she says, smiling up at me and tipping her head so her cheek falls on my shoulder. "You don't mind do you? I just…couldn't resist."

"No, it's fine. It was funny," I add, slipping my arm from around hers to put it around her tiny waist as we walk along, noticing how people watch us, how they give me that approving smile, like we look like a couple, which is good, because I'm starting to feel like we are one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 ~ Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I'll Love You Tomorrow**

"More flowers?" Miki raises her eyebrow at me from where she's leaning in the doorway as I sign for yet another huge, beautiful, tasteful but obviously expensive bouquet. "And you say this guy hasn't even experienced your…mmmm how did you put it? Olympic medal worthy womanly desires?"

"I like that he wants to take it slow," I reply quietly, refusing now to meet the delivery boy's gaze as I feel my cheeks turn a bright red. "He's a real old fashioned gentleman."

"I thought you said none of those existed?" Miki chuckles as she slips into my office and bends over the newest bouquet, pink roses this time, and smiles. "No note?"

"He texts me," I reply, wondering why even this feels embarrassing. I like Marc, I really like him, but all this…chivalry is new and kind of weird when you're not used to it.

"And emails, yes, you said. What's it been now? A week that he's been away this time, and he's sent you flowers _every_ day? Tip, I swear if you don't marry this guy, I'm going to have to have you committed," she warns as she runs her fingertips over the bouquet of red roses, white roses, the yellow ones, and then the rare lavender ones. I think I like those the best.

"Call me crazy Mik, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop you know? Otherwise he's perfect and…I don't think I'm ready for perfect, you know what I mean?" I tap my fingernails against the pile of paperwork I have yet to do, the brief I have to have prepared before end of day tomorrow, knowing that I'll probably stay well into the night tonight to do it so that I will be available when Marc comes home from his team's road trip tomorrow.

"And you still won't let me look this guy up? Cuz you know I'm dying to Google him," she adds, with a pointed look towards me as she heads back towards the door. I know she's probably got a huge stack on her desk as well but I also know that she doesn't have anyone to make herself available for. That's something I should ask Marc about….

"No. No looking him up. All in good time, I told you. I like finding things out about him as we go along. I don't need to know everything at once," I add, feeling a personal amount of satisfaction in my own will power where this is concerned. I mean, c'mon. I'm a good Canadian kid. I like hockey. I should know all about him already but I haven't paid that much attention to the Eastern teams and let's face it, in Vancouver we see the New York teams once every three years thanks to Bettman and his stupid schedule.

"I suppose there is a cute factor in that," Miki sighs, and turns to go, still shaking her head at me as she saunters down the corridor. I watch her go until she turns the corner into the coffee room and then I turn back to the latest email I haven't told her about. One of his brothers is going to be in town when he gets back and he's made plans for us all to go out for lunch.

He wants me to meet his brother and we haven't even done the horizontal mambo yet. Either this guy is Mr. Perfect or he's some kind of Mormon and I'm going to end up living in some compound with six other woman with those long calico dresses that come up to your chin and go down to your ankles and twelve screaming kids.

No…no, I can't think like that, even if he's…well pretty much a square, a kind of a goody-goody. He may not have any of that edginess to him that I usually go for, but I keep telling myself that's a good thing. It certainly makes a refreshing change from all those bad boys that come and go so quickly.

Besides, when he kisses me good night, especially the last couple of times, I'm sure I can see that little spark, that little something pass behind his sky blue coloured eyes that makes me squirm and leaves me wondering just how much he's keeping himself under control. _That_ is what keeps me up at nights; wishing he would just let loose on me, march me through the door and lock it behind us and show me exactly what he's keeping locked up so tight behind that suit and tie Clark Kent exterior.

And I have a _very_ vivid imagination.

Still, I have to admit, looking around at all the bouquets, I just don't see him as the up against the wall kind of guy. He's just too polite and too sweet and too 'after you honey' to be that guy. He opens doors and carries parcels and says please and thank you…no, I have to admit to myself that he probably isn't going to be that guy.

Which is really too bad considering he is big enough to be that guy for me. He's got a good four or five inches on me, all those long arms and long legs and he's definitely strong enough, that's for sure. The couple of times he's talked me into going for a morning run in Central Park I've caught him doing one armed push ups while he's waiting for me and damn if I didn't want to just crawl under him and let him do push ups all over me all day long.

Still…I like him. I really do like him, even if he isn't a bad boy and after the last couple of losers that have toyed with me, didn't I actually swear off men altogether? So maybe he won't be the up against the wall, swinging from the chandelier kind of guy. Maybe a little straight up vanilla missionary position sex might be fun. The least I can do is give it, and him, a try.

Of course I could be wrong.

* * *

"I hope it's not too late," he whispers, casting a wary eye down the corridor to the other closed and I'm sure padlocked, latched and buttressed doors of my neighbors, no doubt noting the eerie silence the midnight hour has brought to the building; the city that never sleeps my ass. Glancing down at my skimpy satin robe I bite down on my bottom lip and shrug. Well, I guess we'll see just how much self control the boy really has.

"Come in," I whisper as I stand aside, mostly behind the door as he slips into my apartment. Well mine and Miki's I remember, listening for the soft rattling down the hallway that tells me she's deep into dream land, visions of the cute young lawyer on the third floor dancing in her head.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you and I…," his voice trails away as I close the door behind me, throwing the dead bolt home and scratching the chain across its' metal home. My knee length robe might be tied securely but I'm sure it leaves him with no doubt as to the fact that there is nothing beneath it. It might be a week before Halloween but I'm not ready for my flannel pj's just yet. "Shit, you look like a Christmas present."

It's cute the way he looks away right away and starts to fidget with his tie, like it's too tight, like it's hot in the hall, which it isn't. My headlights can attest to that and I suppose that isn't making his temperature spike just a little. Part of me wants to torture him, wants to sashay right on by him and make him look at me, but part of me doesn't want to be that mean to him.

"I'll go put something else on," I offer, turning to head down the hallway, only to feel his hand close in a vice like grip on my wrist, pulling me back towards him, pulling me up against the hard steel of his body. I find myself looking up into those blue eyes to see confusion warring with desire and I so want the desire to win out that I push it over the edge, just a bit, pressing my chest against his and going up on tip toe to nip at his bottom lip.

It's the only invitation he needs before he lets go of my wrist and instead holds my head in his two big hands and kisses me like he needs my lips to breathe. It's a kiss that curls my toes and makes me whimper into his mouth as his head tilts to gain a better angle and his tongue sweeps over mine. I don't even mind when it feels like his arms are pressing my ribs right into my lungs, crushing me against the width of his chest. Truth be told, I like it.

Damn, shit, fuck and hell.

For just a single moment I think of Miki, woken up by my screams of pleasure and think just how would I feel in her shoes, or under her pillow as it might be and I press my palms flat against his chest and push him back. Breathless, we sort of grin at one another and then his fingertips gently trace the line of my jaw before he kisses me again. This time a kiss I'm more what I'm used to from him, slow and tender, soft and sugary, less like a molten lava cake and more like a Pavlova.

"You were saying how you couldn't stop thinking of me?" I tease, taking his hand and leading him to our second hand sofa, pressing him down into the throw pillows before cuddling up beside him, finding a comfortable spot in the circle of his arms, my head pressed to his shoulder.

"I guess I missed you," he whispers somewhat breathlessly before turning my lips up to his again for another long, soft kiss that leaves me feeling pleasantly light headed.

"You guess?" I grin up at him, seeing the fire still in his eyes and, having had a taste of my fiery red-head, it makes me want to forget about Miki. I can always apologize in the morning. I mean, she is my best friend. She knows what I've been going through.

"No, I did miss you I just didn't realize I would miss you this much," he replies softly, brushing my hair off of my cheek while his blue eyes search mine. It's the sweetest thing I think any guy has ever said to me, period, and any doubt I have about my ginger boy goes right out the door with it.

"Awww, Marc," I whisper, my lips almost brushing his, "you could be missing me a lot more next time you go." With our faces nearly touching it's almost comical how wide his eyes get when I put all of my meaning into my gaze as my fingers run down his chest, loosening his tie, unbuttoning a button or two.

I hear him gulp, again an a comically audible sound as his fingers close around my wrists, making them seem tiny in his hands as he stops me before I get to another button. I look up at him, my eyelashes fluttering in my 'who me?' look to find him looking back at me, a little boy confused and scared.

Oh god, please don't tell me he's a virgin.

"Not that I don't want…cuz I do," he begins, swallowing loudly again while beads of perspiration break out along the bridge of his sharp Greek nose, "but uh…you have a roommate and uh…I have to get up early for practice and um," I watch him take a quick glance down at my cleavage, and as my eyes follow his I see how my robe has slipped to the side, baring nearly everything. "Shit, it's not like I'm a fag or anything," he adds quickly, pushing himself up off of the sofa as he straightens his tie. No doubt that last comment is based on some good natured ribbing from his teammates or his brothers but there's no doubt in my mind whatsoever as to his sexuality as I glance at his package, now pointing painfully in my direction.

Closing my eyes, I chase all the carnal thoughts filling my imagination to the back of my mind and get up to face him with what I hope is nothing more than a smile on my lips.

"Maybe we can have lunch, after practice? I can meet you somewhere?" I offer, reaching my hand out towards him, offering nothing more than a companion in his walk to my door. He nods, a little more quickly than necessary, and accepts my hand. His is clammy, sweaty, as his fingers lace with mine and I can't help but think 'how sweet' and yet also 'how high-school is this?' He doesn't utter a single word until my free hand is on the door and then he only turns to me, those big blue eyes of his full of pain, anger or is regret? It's hard to say, but standing on tip toe, I kiss him, pressing my lips up against his hoping it will be something like a band aid, or maybe a bookmark, holding our place like a promise for next time.

This seems to ease something in him as I feel the fingers of his free hand brush my cheek so tenderly, and this time when my eyes flutter open to meet his, I'm sure all I see there is regret, and that, I tell myself, I can easily erase later.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I reiterate, squeezing his hand before opening the door and watching him slink away into the night.

So it's another cold shower for me and I'm sure for him, I sigh as I lock the door again, my shoulders slumping in defeat. There is always tomorrow, as Annie would say, and tomorrow's just a day away.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 ~ F-F-F- Falling

"I bricked it," I mutter as my brother hangs his arm around my shoulder, laughing. He says he's laughing with me, but I know that's not true. He's laughing at me and not that I blame him. I have this amazing woman that I'm fall in love with and I had her, almost naked in my arms, and I bricked it. I one hundred percent laid a fucking egg.

"Little bro, what are we gonna do with you?" Eric squeezes my shoulder and then cackles again, shaking his head as we walk into the restaurant. Right now I'd rather be just about anywhere or at least having the knowledge that I didn't have to face her right now. Not in front of my brother. I probably would have done myself a favor by not telling him, but that's one thing about my brothers. We share everything. Besides, I need his advice because right now I'm in over my head.

"She's not just some other girl. She's not like Jordy's mystery Vegas experience," I explain as I scan the tables for her while we're waiting to be seated. "I'm serious about her Ric. I don't know…this could be it for me."

"Which is probably why you've turned into such a big fucking pussy," Eric laughs, giving me a shove towards the waitress who's watching us expectantly. "You're just sorry you and Jared weren't allowed at my stag so you want one of your own."

"Yeah, I want to get arrested like you two idiots," I sigh, shaking my head at him but glad for the respite all the same. "Reservation for three under…."

"There you are. I thought I was going to be late." I turn to see Tippi busting through the doors, looking amazing in this red satin number that hugs all her luscious curves, a black dragon climbing from the hem up over her hips to curl enticingly around her breast, making my mouth dry as I think of how soft and white the slope of her breast is… Her lips are soft under mine as she reaches for my hand, and as her red lips draw slowly away from mine, I find that I can barely breathe. "So this is your brother?" she asks, turning towards Eric who's standing close by, watching us with amusement.

"Yeah, sorry, Eric, this is Tippi," I smile down at her, feeling my chest swell as she turns to Eric with a big smile and I watch him give her that once over look before smiling back at me and I know that he approves, at least he agrees that she's hot.

"I've heard a lot about you already," Eric begins, offering his hand which she takes and I can tell just by his eyes that he's amazed at how strong her handshake is.

"Well I'm here to put all that straight," she laughs, giving my hand a squeeze as the waitress clears her throat to get our attention and lead us to our table. Tippi lets go of my hand to adjust her jacket as she drapes it over her arm and leaves me behind her, admiring the way the tail of the dragon curves invitingly around her ass.

"And you _haven't_ tapped that Marky boy?" Eric whispers in my ear, giving me a shove from behind. "What are we gonna do with you?"

With a sigh, I nod my head and follow her, thinking that I really have to do something about that and soon, but it has to be right. It has to be perfect. I want everything to go just right, to be the kind of night she'll never forget. The kind of night that she'll tell all her friends about, that we'll both remember, forever.

* * *

"I have to say, you two…I don't really see the family resemblance," Tippi muses as we walk hand in hand along the busy sidewalk, window shopping. Or at least that's what she's doing. Mostly I find myself watching her, just as I did while I was sitting between her and Eric at lunch. She just has so much energy, like a little kid, it's kind of fun to watch.

"Yeah, I've been told that," I reply quietly as she looks up at me for comment. "Just wait until you meet my other brothers though, then you'll see it," I add as a promise, to which she raises her eyebrow and grins.

"I'm going to meet your other brothers?" she laughs, offering her lips up to mine. I've been wanting to kiss her properly, and quite badly ever since she arrived this afternoon, but even now, I know I can't. At least not in the middle of a busy New York sidewalk, it would cause a traffic jam.

"I hope so. I mean, if you want to," I add hopefully to which she laughs and presses her lips briefly to mine. Too briefly, more of a brush than what I've been wanting, but then I've already got a plan forming in my head. If only we didn't have a three game road trip coming up. It seems like we've only just got back and that's never really bothered me before. I've always liked going on the road, hanging with the guys. I guess now I know why some of the married guys find it harder to be away.

"No sisters for me to get information out of?" she asks, tugging me towards the window of Macy's full of ghosts, goblins and candy corn.

"Well there's always Tanya, that's Eric's wife, but I'm sure my brothers would just _love_ to tell you anything you'd like to know," I reply wistfully, thinking about all the shit we used to get up to with ladyfingers and Roman Candles this time of year. It's a wonder that all of us have all our fingers and toes. "Then of course there's my mom," I add, almost as an afterthought, but more because I know Eric will already be reporting back to her. I can imagine all the questions she'll have for him, considering I haven't been exactly forthcoming as far as she's concerned. "I think she'd like you."

"Moms _always_ like me," Tippi grins, turning to put her arms around my neck, offering me her lips again. It's almost painful now, to just touch my lips to hers' when I want so much more, especially when she molds her body to mine. The press of her full soft breasts against my chest makes it impossible not to think about the smooth, white skin beneath her dress, or what it would feel like to run my hands over it.

"We're having this uh…fund raiser," I begin, putting some space between us and moving her back into the stream of humanity so I'm not quite so tempted to press her up against the nearest flat surface and ravage her. I'm not Jordy, I do have _some_ self control, which reminds me that he still owes me for helping him pay his bill off for that room in Vegas….

"Fund raiser, when?" she asks, giving my hand a squeeze and bringing me back to the present.

"On Saturday. I thought we could make a night of it?" I ask, turning to her as we walk, my heart leaping in my chest as she raises an eyebrow at me and smiles.

"I guess we better see about getting me a pretty new dress then huh?"

* * *

"_So Eric tells me you're pretty serious about this chick. Do I get to meet her when I play you next week_?" Jordy asks, and I can see the obnoxious smile on his face when he says it.

"Thankfully she has a court case next week and I'll hardly get see her, so no, you won't," I chuckle as I walk down to the waiting town car on the street outside my apartment building. Normally I'd take a taxi, but not tonight. I want tonight to be special. No, not special, perfect.

"_So have you hit that yet_?" he asks, and I can hear the snickering in the background that tells me he's told all of his teammates that I haven't. For just a moment I want to tell him my plans for the evening, but on the other hand I know it's not going to make it any better.

"So, I'll see you next week," I continue, ignoring the question altogether, knowing full well it won't make it go away but at least it lets him know that I'm not going to answer him either.

"_So you aren't going to let me meet her and you're not going to tell me if you've fucked her, when do the rest of us get to meet this chick_?" he asks, the tone of his voice telling me that he knows he's making me squirm. Fortunately for me, the car is already in sight and that gives me the excuse to let him go.

"I don't know Jay, if you and Jared don't learn how to behave around women, maybe never," I chuckle as the driver opens the door for me and I duck in, sliding across the leather seat while the door closes behind me. "Maybe one day you'll grow up and have an honest to god relationship and then maybe we can double date or something."

"_Ouch. Not fair. I told you, I met the woman of my dreams. She just took off before I woke up_," Jordan reminds me of the story he's been telling since the NHL awards in Vegas of this mystery woman that he can't stop talking about.

"_In_ your dreams you mean," I correct him, laughing when he lets out a dramatic sigh. "Seriously Jordan, take it from me, you might want to try a real woman for a change instead of these delusions of yours." I add, laughing as he growls at me on the other end of the line. "Look man, I gotta go. I'll talk to you next week."

"_I'll get you for that Marky boy_," Jordan grumbles and I can picture him shaking his head as he hangs up the phone. Clicking my own phone shut, I drop it into the pocket of my tux jacket and sit back in the seat, grinning to myself. It's good to win and we haven't been doing as much of that out on the ice as I thought we would this season. Not so far anyway and the crowd has really been riding us. It feels good to be going out, knowing that people will have paid to hang out with us, so hopefully they'll be in a better mood.

That and I've been looking forward to seeing Tip and I'm definitely looking forward to…well, to later.

Smiling to myself I glance down at my watch. I'm hoping we'll only have to spend a couple of hours at the casino before we can escape back to my place and be alone, at last.

Picturing her, us, alone in my apartment has me breaking out in a sweat so I'm glad to step out onto the cool sidewalk when the car pulls up outside her apartment building. Ignoring the bitterly cold breeze, I buzz her apartment and smile to myself when the static filled voice says 'coming down' instead of asking who it is. Glancing up at the many lit windows of the brownstone, I wonder if she'd been watching for me, only to find Miki waving back.

Giving her a friendly wave, I turn my attention to the sound of the door opening to see Tippi emerging into the cold dark night in a low cut black number, her ample cleavage glowing white under the street light, her long legs pale and bare down to her diminutive ankles strapped into a pair of red patent leather Mary Jane's with steel tipped stiletto heels. My mouth goes dry as I she offers her ruby red lips up to mine.

"You look…amazing," I breathe as I gaze down at her, admiring the way her hair is pulled back into a tasteful pony tail, small diamonds perched on her ears, leaving her long, graceful neck bare and…very inviting.

"You look so handsome in that tux," she smiles as I take her hand and lead her to the car. "Your shoulders look about a mile wide."

"You have no idea how hard it is to get a tux that fits," I sigh, thinking how much money I had to fork out to get one made because I couldn't find out that actually fit without gaping in half the places and tugging in the other half.

"Well you look great," she repeats as she slides into the back seat of the town car, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, watching those long legs disappear into the car, wondering just what it will be like to have those high heels in my bed, wrapped around my back…. "Coming?" she asks, peeking out at me while the driver glances at me, concerned.

"Uh…yeah, absolutely," I mutter, sliding in beside her, wondering if we can get away with only spending an hour at the fund raiser.


	6. Chapter 6

_It's a shorty one, sort of chapter 5.5 but I wanted this to stand on its' own. _

**Chapter 6 ~ Lost in My Denial**

There are candles, rose petals and chilled champagne. There's soft music playing from somewhere. There are even crisp new sheets with folds in them that haven't even had time to relax out of them. And then there's Marc, hovering nervously behind me as I walk through his darkened apartment.

He's been nervous all night. Even after I tried to put him at ease when a couple of his teammates were hitting on me, after I kissed him in front of them, his hands were still cold and clammy and he would hardly say a word. No matter how many of the wives commented that we make a cute couple, nothing seemed to appease him.

I knew, or at least thought I knew, that this is where I would end up tonight. I was almost sure when he told me he was only going to play a couple of hands at the Black Jack table and even when he was winning, his eyes almost never left me.

I thought then that it was this or he was going to break up with me.

But I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, when that little troll Avery fancied his chances and tried to pull me onto his lap at his table and Marc was suddenly there, leaving his table with a double down showing. I'd never seen this protective, possessive side of Marc and I had to admit, even as he dragged me away from Sean and behind him, that I kind of liked it.

But now that we are entirely alone, that strong, masterful Marc has been replaced by the hesitant and shy Marc that I've grown accustomed to and I know that I'm going to have to be the one to make the first move. It's not that I can't, it's just that I don't want to, shouldn't _have_ to, but still….Turning to him I reach out and tug at his tie, smiling encouragingly up at him.

"This is nice, romantic," I whisper, sliding my other hand up his chest as my gaze focuses in on his mouth, his lips, his white teeth, letting my imagination race ahead, wondering what it will be like to have them explore my body.

"I wanted everything to be perfect," he replies, his hands suddenly cupping my face, his blue eyes gazing intensely down into mine, "because I want tonight to be…perfect." My chest tightens, my heart races and suddenly I know what's coming and I'm not sure if I'm ready.

"That's a lot to live up to," I reply, pressing my lips up to his as I feel his hands fall away and wrap around me, pulling my entire body against his, holding me close. The kiss is long and soft and as his lips draw back from mine, I can't quite open my eyes because I don't want the moment to end.

"I love you Tippi," he whispers, his breath warm as he presses his lips to my forehead, my cheek, and then to my lips once more. With a hum of contentment I smile up at him, wrapping my arm around his neck and pulling his lips down over mine.

"Show me," I whisper, tugging at his belt, "take me to bed."

* * *

I trace the sharp line of his cheekbone down to his jaw, my gaze lingering on the slight upturn of his lips as he sleeps, on his stomach, with his cheek resting on the back of one hand while his other hand covers mine. He looks so sweet, so content and so happy and I wish with all my heart that I felt the same.

Turning to stare up at the ceiling I wonder if it would be considered rude to reach down and bring myself to the point he couldn't reach, despite all of his best intentions, all the time he took, all of the effort he put in. In the end I let him believe he'd climbed that mountain. I gave my best performance, clawing at his back and screaming his name, and yet here I lie, empty, unsatisfied and most of all ashamed.

It isn't that it was bad. In fact, it was good. While I can't say he's the most skilled lover I've ever had, he's certainly eager to please and willing to put in the time and effort and yet…and yet the earth did not move, bells did not ring and for all I wished that it had, his came a distant second to that other night, that other man.

I wish I could erase that memory. I wish with all my heart that I could not compare him to that mystery man, to that one hot night in Vegas, but I can't help it. Lying here, in his bed, surrounded by candles and soft music, I can't help but bring that night to mind.

I shouldn't. The two nights are as dissimilar as night and day.

Marc told me he loves me. He gave me candles and romance and soft, sweet kisses. I don't even know my mystery man's name. And yet, if he'd only been a little less sweet, a little less tender, a lot less gentle, maybe then together we could have erased that night altogether.

I don't blame him. How could I? The fault lies with me and me alone. I need to forget that night, that man, those feelings. This man, this sweet and gentle man lying by my side loves me and if nothing more than he deserves better from me, I must forget, because if I don't, I'll end up hurting him and that…that is something I never want to do.

"You awake?" I hear the rustle of sheets as he turns, his arm sliding across the bed, reaching for me, pulling me to him. I feel the length of his body press against mine, warm and solid. Turning, I smile into his blue eyes, blue eyes that remind of that night, of that man. Closing my eyes against those memories I open them again and smile at him. It's easy to do. He's heartbreakingly handsome and the look in his eyes…the adoration and happiness in his eyes makes me smile. "I'm sorry, I guess I fell asleep," he apologizes, yawning as his hand strokes gently along my hip.

"Well, you _did_ work hard," I whisper, turning into him, feeling his long legs tangle in mine, his broad flat chest pressing against the softness of my own, "and it _is_ late."

"You will stay, right?" he asks, his blue eyes innocently searching mine and I nod, reaching up to run my fingers along the ridge of his cheekbone and down, down until my fingertips touch his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere," I promise, letting him see how much I adore him, how much he does mean to me as I reach for his lips with mine.

"Good, because I'm not _that_ tired," he laughs, pulling me beneath him, the length and breadth of him pressing me down into the mattress. "Unless…I mean if you're too tired I…." I smile up at him, pressing my fingers against his mouth, silencing him as I arch my body up to meet his, wrapping my legs around his hips, urging him inside.

"No, I'm definitely not too tired," I whisper, running my hands through his ginger hair while I gaze up into those sky blue eyes, banishing all thoughts, all memories of any other man to the very darkest recesses of my mind.


	7. Chapter 7

_as always, to my loyal readers, thank you thank you thank you for your feedback and your thoughts. I hope Marc and Jordy don't disappoint._

**Chapter 7 ~ I Love You (Prelude to Tragedy)**

"What are you doing about Christmas?" I ask, closing my eyes in bliss as she runs her fingers through my hair. Lying against her, between her legs, my shoulders pressed against the full, soft mounds of her breasts is my new favorite place to be. I've hardly been paying any attention to the movie, my brain is full of ideas, but all of them will be for nothing if she's already made other plans.

"Are you trying to angle for a hint of what your present is again Marc?" she says, digging her long fingernails into my scalp in warning, which only makes me laugh. If only she knew, my mind is so far off thinking about what she's gotten me.

"No, but I know with this case you've been working on lately you've been so busy so maybe you haven't had a chance to make plans? Are you going home or…?" I turn so that I can see her face, and am rewarded with a frown of concentration that deepens the worry lines in her forehead. "I mean, I know you said you don't really get along with your folks but uh I just thought, with it being Christmas and all…," my voice trails off as she rolls her eyes and shifts her body weight, reaching for the half full glass of white wine on the bed side table. I wish I knew what that meant. Sometimes Tip can be such a mystery to me, but then, as my brothers are fond of telling me, all women are mysteries and they seem to like it that way.

"My parents are going to Hong Kong for the Holidays," she replies at last, acidity dripping from her voice as she puts the glass back, her long slim fingers falling away from the glass as she reaches to lace them with mine. Her fingers are moist and cool as places them between mine.

"So does that mean you're free?" I ask, watching her hopefully. Her dark eyes search mine for a moment and I wish I wasn't quite so eager for her to say yes, but then, I guess it's time for me to give up trying to be cool and in command when I'm around her. Like the guys have been saying in the room, I'm like a puppy dog when it comes to her. She only has to snap her fingers and I'll come running.

"Well it's not like you've got a ton of time off," she replies carefully, her full lips pursing as she tries to read my mind. "You're schedule is stupid," she adds with a scornful look towards the calendar hanging on the back of the bathroom door with all my away days coming up. She might be right, but I'm getting used to this having to rush all the Holiday festivities into a few hours.

"But I do have a couple of days and we're all going back to the farm and…I really want you to come," I ask, grasping her hands in mine and knowing just how disappointed I'll be if she says no and that the plea on my face must be all too clear, but I can't help it. The more I think about it, about having her there, with everyone, the more excited I feel.

"Farm?" she replies quietly, making the cutest little face of disgust, visions of cow shit obviously filling her pretty little head.

"Turf farm," I correct her, bouncing onto my knees and pulling her to me, knowing that at the very least it's not an outright no. "You can't get much cleaner than that," I add, squeezing her to me until she starts to laugh.

"Thunder Bay, in December?" she moans, digging her fingers into the middle of my chest so that I have to give her room to breathe.

"Can't be worse than this," I grin at her, turning to look at the snow falling slowly and silently towards the city streets. "Maybe a little colder but we'll be inside most of the time, wood fire, lots of food…," I add, still watching her intently, hopefully.

"And all your brothers," she mumbles, wrinkling her cute little nose at me.

"You liked Eric, you said so yourself," I remind her, still holding onto her hand as she rolls her dark eyes at me, "and you've talked to Jared on the phone. You said you thought he was funny."

"I did," she smiles, reaching up with her free hand to touch my cheek. "Okay, but…I'm not playing hockey outside in the freezing cold with you guys."

"That's my girl!" I grin, wrapping her up in my arms and squeezing her tight. "It's going to be great. So great. I can't wait," I admit, feeling my heart beating hard in my chest, thinking of my big plans, of the big day to come. "I can't wait."

* * *

"So do I get to meet your wonderful Tipsi this time?" Jordan asks, as he tries to hip-check me into the plate glass window of the bar we're heading to.

"No, you don't get to meet _Tippi_ this time either," I reply, dodging yet another attempt to send me flying into a group of people lined up near the entrance, "and would you quit that? If you wanted to do that you should have done it out on the ice."

"I'm just getting you back for tossing me into the boards head first," he grumbles, shoving me ahead of him as we walk into the bar, past the line up, right behind Lundqvist and a few of the other, older, guys.

"Hey, I was doing my job," I grin back at him, feeling pretty proud of the fact that I can still do that to him and get away with it. Staals don't come up punching. A lot of guys would have come up, fists flying, from that hit, but not us. Don't get me wrong, we weren't laughing either, not at the time, but we respectfully skated away from one another. That's how the Staal brothers roll.

"So why don't I get to meet the little woman? Are you scared she'll be overwhelmed by my obviously superior skills out on the ice and my superior good looks?" Jordy asks, settling up against the bar beside me, resting against his elbows while he scans the crowd for chicks to hit on.

"Ha ha," I mumble, signaling the barkeep for a couple of tall cold ones. There was a time I would have joined him in his hunt, but I realize with a feeling of satisfaction that I don't have to do that anymore. I have Tippi. "She's working," I explain as I hand over a folded bill to the bartender. The winner pays, that's the rule.

"Working? At eleven at night? I think someone's pulling your leg bro," Jordy laughs as he leans towards me to knock his glass against mine, sending a shower of golden suds down onto the bar and the floor.

"She works late on the nights that I have games at home and when I'm away. It's kind of like…an agreement we have," I shrug, not expecting Jordy to understand. Kind of like Eric, I think he wants his woman to stay home and keep the bed warm, shoot out kids and generally wait on him hand and foot. For some reason I guess I turned out differently. "I like that she works hard. She's her own person. It's more…interesting that way."

"You mean you just like the whole hot secretary look," Jordan counters with a grin to which I can only shrug. I can't deny it. It's happens to be true and I haven't met many women who look as absolutely sinful as Tippi can in one of my white dress shirts and a pair of her very high heels.

"She's coming for Christmas though," I grin back at him and he sort of stares back at me with disbelief clear on his face.

"How are you going to bring your imaginary girlfriend for Christmas?" he laughs, making me shake my head at him.

"_My_ girlfriend isn't imaginary," I correct him as I lift my glass so the bartender can clean the mess we've left on the bar. He doesn't say anything of course, doesn't give us shit or even so much as shoot us an evil look. We're the Rangers, we come here all the time and bring a hard drinking crowd with us. It's probably worth a few spilled beers. As long as we don't bring that retard Avery with us, and I'm glad the rule that Jagr and Shanny put in place has still stuck. Avery isn't allowed here. He starts fights, and had he been here, I'm pretty sure that he and Jordy would already be at it. That's the kind of guy my brother is. He won't stand for a lot of bullshit, which is why he's glaring at me over his beer. "What?"

"I'm telling you, I'm going to find her. Did I tell you I got copies of all the security films from the bar and hotel from that night? I've sent them to, like, every modeling agency in the States to see if anyone recognizes her. I've got a feeling in my bones, I'm sure that I'm going to find her." I shake my head at my brother. His persistence doesn't surprise me, that's a trait we all share, but I can't believe he's still going on and on about this chick from Vegas. That was _months_ ago.

"So anyways, back to reality," I sigh, giving him a smile that tells him everything he needs to know about what I think about his search for his mystery woman.

"You're just bringing her to rub it in my face," Jordan mumbles, turning back to his beer and staring down into its' amber depths. "Jared's got a girlfriend, Eric's married, now this," he sighs again, shaking his head.

"No one made you break up with Heather," I point out, thinking how much shit that poor girl had had to put up with just to be his girlfriend, only to be broken up with over some mysterious one night stand.

"Dude, you don't understand. I couldn't go back to like…_beer_ after I'd had champagne you know?" Jordy shudders, like the thought of his ex has him coming out in a cold sweat or something. I stare at my brother and, for the first time since 'the night' wonder if he's actually serious about this thing, about this mystery woman.

"So you're like…ready to hire private investigators and the whole nine yards over a one night stand?" I ask, watching him intently for his answer, but in true Jordy style he only laughs and slugs me in the shoulder.

"Spend money on a chick? Fuck, I'm not a pussy like you!" he grins and then shakes his head and calls for another couple of tall cold ones.

"Uh, J, I think I might skip the second round," I say, holding up my mostly untouched glass. "I'm tired and besides…I have someone to go home to," I add with a smirk that I can't quite seem to hide.

"Fuck, you're not telling me you're living with the bitch now?" he asks, shaking his head, but I notice, not calling off the order.

"Not yet, not…entirely but lately she has pretty much been staying at my place most nights," I grin, thinking of her all tucked up in my sheets, sliding beneath the comforter to find the cool length of her to press myself against.

"Fuck me. You only just met the bitch. What is with you and 'Ric? What is the deal about settling down anyway? The world is your fucking oyster, fuck it!" he cries, holding his beer aloft and starting something amongst the rest of the guys who all raise their glasses and cheer along with him. I watch them all and realize that I don't feel the least bit like raising mine along side theirs. I don't get the sentiment at all, and I did, once upon a time, but now….

"I'm going to ask her to marry me," I shout over all the noise, leaning towards Jordy so that I'm nearly pressing my lips to his ear. He turns to me, his eyes wide and a look of utter horror on his face.

"_What_? What the _fuck_ are you talking about man? You just met the bitch. She could be some fucking gold digging skanking whore for all you know man, what the fuck?" I find myself grinning back at his shock and disbelief. I hadn't expected less from him or from Jared for that matter. Eric will understand, I'm sure of that. He'll support my decision. The only reason I'm telling Jordan now is so that, by the time he does finally get to meet Tippi, he'll have come to terms with it.

"I've already bought the ring and everything," I add feeling around in my jacket pocket for it. I really shouldn't be carrying it around with me on the streets of New York. That's pretty much just asking to get mugged, but I couldn't think of anywhere to hide it, and now that Tippi does keys to my place, I need to find a good hiding spot. Taking out the small square box, I open it carefully to reveal the two white gold bands, a simple, plain wedding ring and a bigger, very ornate, very, very expensive engagement ring.

"Fuuuuuuck me," Jordy sighs, shaking his head and wiping his brow without ever taking his eyes off of the bling in the box. "You're serious. You're gonna fucking do it aren't you?"

"At Christmas, on Christmas day," I grin, snapping the lid shut and putting it back in my jacket and snapping the jacket shut, but patting the outside of it just for good measure.

"Holy shit Marc…well, fuck. She must be fucking good at something. Can she suck a tennis ball through a garden hose or something?" he asks, the mischievous glow in his eyes telling me he's just yanking my chain.

"You'll never know bro, that's the best fucking part," I grin back at him, accepting that second drink after all.


	8. Chapter 8

_yeah yeah I know, it's short, bear with me, more is coming soon_

**Chapter 8 ~ Twas the Night Before Christmas**

"You do know you handed in the brief like an hour ago," Miki reminds me from the doorway to my office, looking at me over the wire rims of her glasses. "You can't avoid this forever Tip."

"You sure about that?" I sigh, tapping my pen against the papers in front of me.

"Knowing you? Hell no," she chuckles, dropping her bags and jacket and slipping into the chair across the desk from me, eyeing me with a certain amount of amusement. "I just don't get why you're hiding out here though? I mean, you've got this amazing boyfriend and it is Christmas so why are you still here?" I stare at the papers in front of me, knowing damn well that I haven't actually seen the words on any of the pages. It's all sort of blurred together with the visions of happy families that have been playing in my head, making me sick to my stomach.

"I don't get happy families," I mutter, capping my pen and putting it away before I start doodling on my notes again.

"You didn't mind hanging out with my family," she points out, to which I can only shrug.

"That's different," I sigh, giving her that look that I hope will make her stop asking questions, that look that says 'just believe me' but she only smiles at me and shakes her head.

"C'mon, that boy is in love with you big time. How can you possibly want to sit in our apartment all by yourself when you can be with him? Besides, I thought you liked his brothers?" she points out. It's a valid point. I just wish that they whole parental approval thing didn't go along with hanging out with his brothers.

"I've only met one of them and yeah, I'm sure they're fine but it's…the whole everyone meet the new girlfriend thing and the whole being happy all the time…especially with the way things have been going lately," I explain, dropping my head into my hands.

"Oh…yeah, that," Miki replies knowing full well, without my having to tell her, just what I'm talking about. We've had many a late night chat over a hot chocolate about the one problem, really the only problem, I have with Marc. "I thought you were going to talk to him about that," she adds quietly.

"Talk to who about what?" Ryan asks, bursting into my office with an armful of presents, resulting in my groaning out loud and whacking my forehead against the edge of my desk. "What the hell is with her?"

"She's supposed to be leaving for Thunder Bay with ginger boy but she's having second thoughts," Miki explains as she makes room for Ryan to perch on the edge of her chair.

"Well if she doesn't want to spend Christmas with Mr. Hotness I am so in there," Ryan grins as he pushes a La Perla bag towards across the desk towards me.

"I don't think you're quite his type," I smile over the bag at him, "and why do I think this is more for him than it is for me?" I add, lifting out a handful of tissue and glancing into the bag. "Holy…Ryan…oh my god." I feel my cheeks burn as I lift out a flimsy black thong with fringe all around it and a matching black bra that looks a whole lot more like a flimsy spider-web than something that will hold up the girls.

"Well, I figured if you didn't have the guts to tell him you need to be spanked, if those don't scream it then girlfriend, I don't know what will."

* * *

"Wake up sleepy head."

Blinking, I stare down the long, snow covered, drive way at the oversized farmhouse with all the rental cars and snowmobiles in the driveway and my heart begins to hammer against my ribs.

"I can't believe I fell asleep over all those pot holes," I mumble, pushing myself up and rubbing at my eyes. "Oh my god, this place is huuuge. You made it sound like some cramped little…," Marc laughs as he reaches over to squeeze my hand.

"Well, can you imagine me and three others just like me fitting in anything else?" he teases, giving my hand a squeeze as he aims the SUV we're travelling in towards the front door.

"Is it too late to turn around? We can always go to a Motel 6 and have a nice, romantic Christmas in front of a nice twenty one inch TV with four channels," I offer, feeling slightly queasy at the thought of the curious and judgmental looks from his parents. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, reminding myself that parents always like me, that I know how to behave and that I already know that his brothers, well at least one of his brothers, likes me.

"C'mon sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about, I promise," Marc says sweetly as he puts the car into park behind a raised up pick-up truck. "Just be yourself and everyone will love you, just like I do," he promises quietly, his lips gently brushing my cheek. It's hard not smile at him when he does such sweet things, and so I find myself grinning at him and feeling a lot more cheerful than I had a moment ago.

That is until a snowball thuds and spread across the windshield, nearly scaring the shit right out of me.

"Jared, you little fucker," Marc laughs, letting go of my hand so he can slide out of the car. I watch him take a defensive stance behind the car door, dropping to the ground in a stealthy crouch and gathering snow into a solid ball between his big hands.

Thinking that they wouldn't dare attack a guest, I open the door and step out, right into the line of fire.

Except the hand that's raised and aimed at my head stops mid air and a pair of ice blue eyes stare back at mine, mirroring the same emotion I'm feeling – which is perfectly defined by one word which repeats itself in my head over and over again.

Shit!

The second thing that goes through my mind is 'it's him', the mischief filled blue eyes, the cleft in the chin, the scruff around the strong jaw line, the broad shoulders, and…oh god, the big hands and long fingers. These shameless thoughts are quickly followed by 'damn, I should have known'. Looking from one brother to the next, the resemblance is clear and obvious. Well, if not between Eric and the others, then at least between the other ginger, Jared and this…this blonde brother is scarily apparent. The brothers look so alike they could be triplets.

How the hell could I not have known? All of those nights in front of a computer screen and not one time did I take the time to look up his family tree. And now? Now it's too late to do anything about it. It's Christmas eve and I'm standing knee deep in a snow bank, facing the man that made me scream and destroyed a hotel room with me attached to his penis.

Oh god.

"Duck!" Marc swings into action, stepping in front of me like an action hero, shielding me with the width of his body, stepping between me and his brother but I don't duck. In fact I can't move, as if my feet have frozen to the ground and I'm held in some kind of tractor beam coming from his blue eyes.

No. God no. Please…oh god.

I stare at Marc's back, mortified and terrified and sick to my stomach all at once.

I can't hurt him. I would do anything, would give _anything_ not to hurt him and I put that plea in my eyes, sending it his brother, knowing my eyes are round and that my face must be ashen with shock.

'Please don't say a word,' I beg silently 'please, for him.'


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 ~ It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas**

So this is where I come in, and before you say it, my sainted brother Marc isn't exactly that. In my family he's the troubled child, he's the pain in the ass, whether that's what he'd like you to believe or not. Usually _I_'_m _the quiet brother. I'm not saying I don't have my moments but if you were to stop everything right here, freeze frame it, and ask my parents or anyone else that knows us who should take the blame, I'm telling you they'd pick Marc.

That being said, he isn't to blame, not for this, but then again neither am I. I'm the innocent party in all this and the woman that I blame is standing in the snow in my parent's front yard, staring back at me, willing me to bite my tongue.

When she steps out of the car I just think, 'Eric's right, Marc's got himself a real hottie', but then she flips her long black hair over her shoulder and turns to look at me and I know. I know then and there, without a doubt in my mind, that the woman standing in front of me is _her_, the woman I've been dreaming about, day dreaming about, laying awake at night thinking of. It's _her_. My dream woman and she's holding my brother's hand.

It's the worst case scenario. It's my worst nightmare come true. I've found her, _finally _found her, and she's looking at my brother like he's her island, her rock, her everything and she's looking at me like I'm about to do something awful, as if I'm about to ruin her life.

Ruin her life? As if what's she's doing right now doesn't piss all over my parade.

But still, he's my brother and god help me if the rule does not apply here, _bro's before hoe's_, but damn it all, I'm going to get to the bottom of this as soon as I can get her alone.

"Throw that Jordan and I'll break your arm," Marc warns, getting between me and…and….

"My hero," she grins at him but I'm almost sure that her gaze flicks towards me, just for a moment. "I think I'm safe," she adds, wrapping her arm around his.

"Oh don't be too sure about that," Tanya laughs, emerging from the safety of the house only long enough to call us all inside where it's warm and the food is waiting. "Get all of them together and no one is safe. It's called collateral damage."

"There better not be any inside the house," my mom warns, pointing her finger at Marc and then at Jared before narrowing her eyes at me. "Not with all the decorations up or someone's going to be sleeping in the barn again, Jordan."

"That was once, and it was Jared's fault," I grumble, shuffling my feet, waiting for everyone else to go inside, hoping that Marc will take their bags in and I will be able to grab a moment alone with her. Except he doesn't, or at least he forgets about them in his haste to give Jared a noogie, so I go back to get the bags, shooting her a look meant to have her follow, but she sticks to the safety of my mother's side.

Smart _and _pretty. Damn.

"Oh good, Jordan, can you take her bag down to Marc's room? I'm assuming you prefer to go in with Jared or do you want to go in with Jordan, Marc?" my mom asks, guiding her towards the kitchen, women's territory, but she stops, reaching for Marc's hand, a look of confusion and terror filling her pretty face. Oh good. Marky forgot to tell her about _the rule_.

"I'm sorry Tip, I guess I was just so happy to get you here I forgot to tell you," he smiles at her like it's no big deal when the look on her face says that clearly it's the end of the world as far as she's concerned. Gee…she couldn't possibly be afraid to be alone, away from my brother's protection, could she?

"I'm sorry dear, but we have a few rules," my mom explains in that smiling but don't mess with me sort of tone that we all know means whatever she's saying isn't open to argument. "Unless you're married," she continues, shooting Tanya a big motherly smile, "there's no co-habitation under our roof. I'm sure you won't mind, for a couple days," she adds, giving hers and Marc's conjoined hands a brief pat before heading back towards the kitchen, giving my brother some privacy to make up for his faux pas I guess.

"So, Jared's room right bro?" I grin at Marc over her shoulder as I walk into the hallway, smiling to myself as I imagine her alone, in my brother's room, right across the hall, with him tucked safely away, upstairs with Jared, conveniently out of the way.

I can still hear their hushed but argumentative tones when I come back down the stairs, but predictably the door to Marc's room is open, Mom would flip out if it was closed, but they both fall silent when they see me standing in the doorway.

"Dinner's been waiting on you guys," I remind Marc, but I can't help but turn my attention to her, to her dark eyes watching me warily from the middle of my brother's room. I watch my brother's hand gently brush her cheek and my jaw clenches. I'm almost relieved when she turns her face away, turning her back on both of us.

"We'll be right there," Marc shrugs, waving me away.

Oh I'll go, _for now_, I think as I head towards the kitchen, but I'll be back.

* * *

I'll give her this much. She plays the part of the dutiful girlfriend well. She helps with the food, cutting, plating and serving and she certainly smiles a lot, but if there's one thing being a defensive forward has taught me, it's to keep track of two things at once. I can watch everyone else and watch her at the same time and it seems to me that while she looks the part of the attentive girlfriend, Marc's girl is spending an awful lot of time at the table watching me, but every time I try to hold her gaze, she looks away, as if she hasn't seen the plea in my eyes.

I have all these questions swirling in my head that I've waited so long for answers for and I can barely stand to sit here and pretend, biting back all the things I want to say. Like how could she leave? How could she tell me that I was the best she'd ever had and then leave?

I know men lie, say just about anything to get and keep a woman in bed but I'm almost certain that is one habit women don't share, except maybe when it comes to dick size, but that's one issue that I can be pretty sure that neither me nor any of my brothers need to worry about.

Which leads me to the next question that's been burning the tip of my tongue since they arrived, and that's why him? Why of all of the god damn people in this world for her to hook up with, why did it have to be my brother? Everyone knows that I'd do anything for my brothers, we're that close but what do I do now? He was there that night. Well no, he was there the next day, but he saw what a mess I was in. I haven't been able to stop talking about her. Even now, watching her laugh at something Jared says has my dick aching for her.

"So who's going to do the dishes?" my mom asks, looking across the table at Tanya who usually volunteers without having to be asked, but she, Tippi Marc calls her, stands instead, stacking Marc's plate on top of her own.

"I'll help." I grab Jared's plate and reach for Eric's, ignoring his curious glance.

"I'll do it Jordy," Marc insists, holding his open hands towards me as if he expects me to put the plates in his hands and walk away, which is normally something I would do, but not tonight. There's too many things I need to know, too many questions I need answers to. I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off but she beats me to it.

"That's okay babe, I made you late, you visit, we'll have this done in no time, I promise," she adds with a pointed look towards me.

I feel the bite of the edge of a butter knife in my hand as she turns her lips up to his and lets him kiss her but I'm glad for the sweet edge of pain. It's the only thing that stops me from tossing the plates down and throwing myself across the table at him. That wouldn't be new in this house. God knows we fight over the smallest shit anyway. But then I'd have to explain it to my mom, and the way she's looking at us both right now, love and pride shining in her eyes, reminds me that it's Christmas, and we're all supposed to be on our best behavior.

So I follow her out the kitchen, listening for the receding sounds of my family heading for the living room, the tree and the stockings hung by the chimney with care before I put take my spot beside the sink with a tea towel, because Gran's china doesn't go in the dishwasher, trying to decide what to say.

"What's your deal?" she hisses, glancing furtively over her shoulder, breaking the ice. "It was one night! Stop looking at me like…like…," she looks up at me and rolls her eyes, "like that."

"Like what?" I snarl back, snatching a plate from her hands and taking my anger out on it, drying it hard and fast.

"I don't know," she snaps back, turning back to the sudsy water and dunking the next dish in as if she wishes it was my head she was holding under the water. "Like someone's playing with your toy or something," she adds more quietly. I can't help but smile at the picture that paints in my imagination and that seems to make her even angrier. Well, maybe not angry I think as I watch her cheeks turn a bright crimson colour. "Stop it. Stop looking at me like you're thinking of me naked."

"Tell me you're not thinking about it," I whisper, leaning towards her as she thrusts another dish into my hands. Her eyes flutter closed as my lips almost brush the shell of her ear, and then she shakes her head and pushes me away.

"I'm not. I don't. I don't think about it, _ever_," she adds but something in her tone tells me it's a lie. Chuckling, I press the point by leaning over and inhaling the sweet smell of the shampoo in her hair before brushing her long dark locks aside and tasting the perfume from the back of her neck, pressing my lips to the spot where her neck meets her back, feeling her entire body shudder against me.

"You're thinking about it right now," I whisper, licking my way back up to her ear. "I think you were thinking about it all through dinner," I add, tossing the tea towel aside and putting my hands on her hips, tugging her round little ass back against me. "I bet you're so wet right now," I add, thinking about how it was between us that night, how hot and wet and willing she was.

"Stop it," she whispers, her soapy hands gripping the edge of the sink but, I notice, she makes no move to stop me.

"I don't think you want me to stop," I whisper, my hands rising slowly, guiding the soft, clinging fabric of her sweater upwards, over her ribcage and further, until I can feel lace beneath my fingertips. "I think about it," I add as my thumbs find her nipples, growing hard under my hands, giving them each a little flick, making her sigh out loud. "I think about fucking you all the time," I continue, pressing my aching dick against the small of her back and feeling her press against it.

"Don't Jordan, please," she begs, but doesn't stop pressing herself against me, doesn't pry my hands away from round, firm breasts.

"Don't you mean Jordan please fuck me?" I moan, rubbing my erection against her, pressing her into the counter, wanting to push her jeans down and have her here, now.

"No!" she groans, finally pushing against me hard enough to push me away, making me stumble backward, so that she can tug her sweater down before she practically runs out of the kitchen.

I watch her go to him, watch her bend to whisper something to him, wondering if she's going to tell, but it seems as though she's only developed a sudden headache and is telling him she's going to bed. My teeth grind together as he kisses her gently, cupping her cheek in his hand as he looks up at her with affection mingled with concern. It makes me want to punch him in the face, make him bleed, make him hurt like I'm doing right now.

I watch her make her apologies before she heads down the hall alone and I wonder if she wants me to follow her, but I don't get time to decide if I'm going to do that. Marc is suddenly there beside me, rolling up his sleeves.

"Don't worry bro," he says, smiling good naturedly as he dips his hands into the still steaming water, "I'll help you finish this up so you can get to your stocking. I know how much you look forward to your pack of hockey cards every year," he adds with a grin, flinching as he waits for me to hit him but I don't, I just shrug and take the plate I'd abandoned in favor of his girlfriend.

"Yeah, let's get this done," I mutter, turning to add the plate to the small pile. "I'm tired. I can't wait to go to bed."


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you as always for all your comments, and I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised. I admit I was expecting some of you not to like this story because Sidney isn't in it so I'm glad you like the Staals too!!_

**Chapter 10 ~ It Came Upon A Midnight Clear**

Damn it all to hell.

My entire body is on fire and even as I look longingly out at the quietly falling snow, I know damn well that rolling naked in a snow drift isn't going to put out the flames that are licking along my skin.

A cold shower would kill the heat, for a while, but I know the minute I see him…that he sees me…that it will all come back again. All the heat, the need, the passion and the sex. Because that is all it is, I tell myself as I pace the small bedroom with its boyish décor, dark colours and hockey memorabilia covering the walls and lining the bookshelves around me. It's just sex. It isn't anything else. It isn't what Marc and I have.

I don't feel anything for him, for Jordan. It's just my body, just physical need, I insist as run my fingers along the lines of dress shirts and sweatshirts that hang like forgotten sentries in Marc's closet. I bury my face in them, wanting to erase the feel of his brother on my skin, but there's only the faintest trace of Marc on these clothes, there isn't enough of his scent here to banish the musk that clings to my skin, the smell of arousal, of desire.

It's just animal instinct, as if there's some beast inside of me that recognizes the smell of a female in heat, except in this case, that female would be me and as much as I don't want to admit it, I want to waggle my butt and do some kind of mating dance to make him come take me, right here, right now.

Squeezing my eyes shut against the imagined image of Jordan's long lean body pressing down over mine, I take several deep breaths and wait for the feeling to pass. I'm not an animal and I'm not going to give in to these physical urges. I have more control than that, and besides, I wouldn't do that to Marc. I…I care about him.  
But I don't love him, I sigh, sagging onto the edge of his double bed and staring down at my feet. I want to, I should, but I don't.

He's the sweetest, best man I've ever met and he loves me but as much as I like him, as much as I want to love him, I know that I don't and if I actually needed proof of that, my hormonal, physical reaction to his brother is the kind of evidence I can't ignore. Maybe it's only lasted this long because he reminds me of that night, of Jordan.

Not that I'd ever realized it of course, but then again ever since I'd met Marc I'd been trying to shut out the memories that are now flooding my mind, making it hard to think clearly. Maybe their physical resemblance was the reason why I'd been attracted to Marc in the first place, subconsciously of course. It's also possible, I realize as I think about it, that it's why I've been feeling disappointed with our…physical connection, like my body is saying 'close but no cigar'.

Now the question is what to do about it? It's Christmas fucking Eve. I can't break up with him on Christmas Eve that would be, well, mean, not to mention suicidal. After all, it would be a long walk in the bitter sub zero weather back to the airport. Of course there is also the fact that if Marc asks for an explanation it might cause world war three in his house.

No, I can't do that, so my only other choice is to play happy families until we got back to New York and then I can come up with some excuse, some kind of incurable but highly contagious disease that I've contracted to keep him away.

But that still leaves me with the question of Marc's brother...of Jordan. Not that there is anything I can do, not now, and probably not in the future either. I mean, there has to be some kind of law against sleeping with two brothers. I was probably already going to burn in hell for what I'd unknowingly done, never mind if I actually continued to do it with full awareness of what I was doing.

Not that any of these thoughts are any help to me now.

My body is still tingling, still aching with unquenched desire. I can still feel his breath on the back of my neck, his hands on my breasts and I…oh god I hate to admit it, but I want him. It's like a drug. I know it's a bad idea, that it's going to cause me irreparable damage but I feel like I'd give just about anything for one more hit. Just one more and then I can give him up, for good, forever.

Except that I can't and for that I feel glad. Frustrated but glad. Their entire family is in this house and Marc has promised that the house will be full to bursting with extended family, cousins, and friends in the morning. I just have to get through the night and then there will be too many people around for anything like happened tonight to repeat itself.

Even if I lie awake all night and stare up at the ceiling, I am not going to go back out there. I don't trust him, Marc's brother, Jordan.

Fuck that. I don't trust myself I decide, lying down and gripping the edges of the bed, digging my fingers into the quilt while I listen to the sounds of the house settling down for a long winter's nap around me. I listen to each creak of the floorboards as everyone heads to their rooms, knowing that I'm still going to have to face him, Marc, coming in to say goodnight.

Unless I pretend to be asleep I realize, shutting out the light and scrambling out of my clothes and curling up under the heavy down quilt, squeezing my eyes tight and willing my body to relax, taking long slow even breaths while I listen for the door to open, telling myself that Jordan wouldn't dare come in.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep, I realize as I wake in the pitch black of an unfamiliar room bathed in sweat, my back arched as I teeter on the edge of a phantom orgasm brought on by familiar dreams of athletic, passionate sex. Familiar and now this time a name is on my lips as I wake.

Jordan.

Stuffing the edge of the quilt in my mouth I muffle the cry of anguish that escapes my lips at having my dream lover taken from me before I'm satisfied. Closing my eyes, I try and grasp onto the tail end of the dream but as much as I want to go back to sleep I can't.

I can't because he's in this house, he's so close, and I want him so badly it hurts.

Tossing the quilt aside I sit up, bracing myself against the wall and hugging my knees up to my chest, or almost. Looking down, I find myself staring at the pretty…well not pretty exactly, but exquisitely sexy bra and panty set that Ryan gave me, the one that was supposed to bring Marc over to the dark side. I'd put it on in the bathroom at the airport, hoping we'd be able to sneak off for a quickie and that he'd go all Viking raider over it.

It seems a shame to let such expensive stuff as this go to waste.

Biting on the inside of my cheek I shake my head as I try to swallow the semi hysterical laughter that threatens to escape. The entire idea is ludicrous. I can't just creep into Jordan's room, assuming I can even tell which one is his and not mistakenly walk in on Eric and his wife. Not with Marc sleeping innocently just above me.

Or can I?

Shaking my head I'm forced to cover my mouth with both hands to stifle the laughter and when that doesn't work, I reach for a pillow and pull it over my face as I lay back down.

What am I doing? Am I really willing to throw away everything I have with Marc for one more roll in the hay with his brother? I've hardly given Marc a chance. I'm the one that hasn't told him that he's a little too vanilla pudding in the bedroom for my taste. Who knows what he'd do if he saw me in this outfit? Maybe he'd drag me out to the barn by my hair and….

Now I can't stop the laughter and I nearly suffocate myself trying to keep from waking the entire house. The idea of my sweet, good natured, gentlemanly Marc acting like a cave man is simply insane. I've waited this long, hoping every night when he comes to bed that he'll take charge and throw off his Clark Kent exterior in favor of some kind of darker, more base alter ego and every night he's the same sweet boy that any woman would be lucky to have.

Which leaves me thinking about his brother. His _younger _brother. As if things couldn't get any worse.

Is it that he gets me or is it just some kind of fluke that when our bodies meet they go up in flames? If I gave him the chance could he be…_it_? If we could make something that is more than physical, if we had time, could he also be all the other things that make Marc the perfect boyfriend? Could Jordan be thoughtful and sweet and generous and charming?

Groaning I toss the pillow aside and shut my eyes tight.

He lives in Pittsburgh and he's twenty-one for crying out loud. Of course he's not relationship material. I can hear the comments already, from cougar to cradle robber. It was bad enough that Marc was a few months younger but Jordan….

Curling my hands into fists I drum them against the mattress in pure frustration, clenching my teeth to stop from screaming and squeezing my eyes tight against the visions that keep popping back into my head. I can't stop feeling his hands on me, my body reacting to his, wanting him, coming alive for him.

No matter how unfair I think it is, no matter how much I don't want to hurt Marc, no matter how wrong I tell myself it will be, I want him. I want him so much that I ache, that my nipples are sore for the lack of his lips, that my lips feel dry for the want of his kiss and I know that every time I think about him I can feel the wetness between my legs, warm and slick, waiting to welcome him.

I don't think I'll be able to go back to sleep unless I have him and he has me, I realize as I lay there, my knees pulled up and my hand slowly sliding down between my legs. I know that even if I do manage to get myself off now that it will only make things worse, not better. I'll still want him in the morning, maybe more. Maybe so much that I'll end up fucking him right under the Christmas tree in front of everyone.

_Merry Christmas to me._

Maybe a cold shower will help.

Cursing quietly I reach for my bag and realize the only thing I brought for wandering down the hall to the bathroom is a fluffy old robe and the idea of wrapping myself in its' warm fuzziness leaves me shaking my head. The idea isn't to get any warmer, it's to cool off.

Padding barefoot across the cold floor I reach for one of Marc's old dress shirts. Tugging it off the hanger, I slip it over my shoulders and can't help but smile at the way it falls nearly to my knees, the arms draping over my wrists. He likes when I put on his shirt instead of a pj's or a robe, it always makes him smile.

With a sigh, I turn for the door, wincing already at the idea of cold water rushing over my skin on an already cold night.


	11. Chapter 11

_wow...you guys really seemed to like the last couple of chapters! I'm glad, I only hope I can continue the suspense!_

**Chapter 11 ~ It Came Upon A Midnight Clear**

She cried out my name.

I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart hammering in my chest, wondering if it was real or a creation of my imagination. The house is quiet. Make that silent, the kind of silent you can only find in the middle of the night. The only sound I hear is the rustle of the sheets on Marc's bed, _her_ bed, across the hall.

Every muscle in my body is taught as I sit there, waiting, because I can't go to her. If I go to her then Marc will have every right in the world to kill me, and I won't have any right to raise a hand to stop him. If she comes to me, on the other hand, then at least I have some kind of deniability. Not that it will stop him or any of my brothers from tearing me apart. They always take his side, even Jared and it should, at the very least, be me and Jared against Marc and Eric. I mean, that would be fair but noooo, Jared always takes Marc's side. It's because they're both carrot tops.

Besides I'm tired of hand me downs. If it didn't mean getting my assed kicked, I think I might actually enjoy telling Marc I was there first. But for now, I just have to wait, and it's agony to lie here, knowing she's only across the hall.

I can still smell the sweet fruit scent in her hair, the expensive, heady perfume on her neck. I can still taste her skin on my tongue. I can still feel the rasp of the lace of her bra under my fingertips, the way her nipples hardened as I touched them, the way her body pressed back against mine, urging me on.

To make things worse, all I have to do is close my eyes to feel her moving under me, over me, against me, just like I've done a thousand times since that night in Vegas. I haven't been able to get her out of my head, and it's not like I haven't fucked my fair share of chicks. I mean, there's been puck fucks hanging around our place since Eric & Taylor Pyatt grew pubes not to mention all the pussy that's just sort of been landing at my feet ever since I got to Pittsburgh. I mean, more than you can shake a stick at, seriously.

But her, there's something about her that's just…_different_. Like from the first moment I saw her at the club, the way she moved, the way she walked, the way she looked at me, like she was already seeing us together, naked. Not to mention the fact that she's fucking amazing in the sack. The woman did things to me…I can't even explain it. I haven't been able to explain it to anyone.

All the guys on the team, they just laugh every time I bring her up. They keep telling me to get over it, fuck someone else and forget about her and it's not like I haven't tried but…they don't compare. She just…won't get out of my head.

And now she's right across the hall and it's all I can do not to walk across the hall, rip the door off its' fucking hinges and grab her and….

And what? What if she blows me off like she did earlier? Then what, a cold shower before having to sit through Marc proposing to her?

That I can't fucking watch. No fucking way.

Swinging my feet onto the cold floor, I grip the edge of the bed, wishing I had one of my loud techno cd's to put on right now like I do on my way to a game, to pump myself up, to get ready, but I'll just have to keep the picture of my brother holding out that ring to her in my mind to keep me focused, to motivate me, because that can't fucking happen. If I can't have her, than neither can Marc.

Despite the cool temperature in the room, I don't even reach for my robe, remembering the hungry look in her eyes when she'd pushed up my shirt and got an eyeful of my abs that night, because right now, I'll take any advantage I can get. With a deep, steadying breath, I force myself to walk to the door of my room and open it, only to see her slipping out of the door of Marc's room, wearing one of his rumbled old dress shirts, something cheap from Walmart, nothing like anything we'd wear now, but damn, it looks incredible on her.

She turns, her hand still on the door knob, standing on tip toe and then freezes when she sees me standing there behind her, watching her. I try to look like I've been standing there for a while, try to look unperturbed, cool, calm and most of all, unmoved by her beauty which at this moment, is the hardest challenge of all.

Her hair is tucked up at the nape of her neck, like she's just curled it up there, like there's nothing holding it there and the slightest touch of my fingers will send it spilling over her shoulders. Her long legs emerging, pale silver in the darkness of the hallway, from beneath the hem of the dress shirt, have me licking my lips. Worst is the peek-a-boo of lace and the swell of her pale white breasts that fit just right in my hands….

"I was just…the bathroom…," she mumbles, looking up at me with wide eyes, but I notice she doesn't make a move to continue down the hall. I open my mouth to lie to her, to say that I was heading in the same direction, but it's like my mouth is too dry to form the words. It's like I know that what will come out is something more along the lines of 'I want you' or something cruder. So I don't say anything and she doesn't move for the longest time, her eyes glued to the floor, like she doesn't dare look at me.

I don't know if I should take it as a compliment, but I do.

"The bathroom's that way," I point out when she turns to head towards the stairs, my heart constricting so hard in my chest that it's suddenly almost impossible to breathe as I imagine her climbing the stairs and climbing into bed with Marc, shooing Jared out of the room and forcing me to lie in bed, beneath them, listening to the creak and groan of the floor as she rides him….

"Yeah…of course, right," she mumbles again, turning back but only taking a step or two before stopping and turning back to me, her gaze searching mine.

It's a risk, I know, but it looks like the best invitation I'm going to get. So with a deep breath and a silent 'here goes nothing', I step forward, hoping like hell I'm right.

* * *

I watch as his hand comes closer and closer to my face and then he slips his hand around to the nape of my neck and the elastic band holding my hair in place. He looses it in one smooth motion, letting my hair drop around my shoulders, dragging his fingers through it before cupping my chin in his long fingers and drawing my lips up to his.

My lips part beneath his as I feel the solidity of the wall meet my shoulders at the same time as his other hand winds around my rib cage, pulling my body against his. I feel the scratch of beard stubble against my chin, my jaw and then my throat as I turn my head aside and let him kiss his way down to the thin skin where the shirt opens at my shoulder blades. My own lips brush the delicate rim of bone near his eye as my fingers tangle in that wheaten horsetail stiffness of his hair, holding him close as his teeth tug at my neck, making me cry out.

His lips are suddenly on mine, urgent and bruising as his body presses against mine, as my hands dig into the corded muscle of his shoulders.

God if it's so wrong, why does it feel so damn right?

Reaching back to grab his hand, I pull him behind me towards the door to the room behind me and as I push it open I turn back to him and, seeing his lips open to give voice to the question in his eyes, I just smile and tug at his arm.

Kicking the door closed behind him, he turns to me and without a word, grabs me up in his arms and kisses me until neither of us can breathe and then he lowers me down onto the bed and crawls in after me, his body molding to mine as he kisses his way back down my neck while his fingers make short work of the few buttons I'd done up on the crisp cotton shirt. When his lips move away from my skin, I look up to find him looking down at me, an amused smile on his face

"What?" I hiss, my gaze following his down to the black lace and fringe which he flips with his fingers, making it dance against my pale skin.

"You were sleeping…in this?" he chuckles, shaking his head and grinning like he's heard a good joke. I open my mouth to argue the point, to tell him that I'd been wearing this for Marc, but then shut my mouth again and pull him down over me. After all, what would be the point to arguing about that now? At best it would only be semantics. At worst, it would just delay the inevitable, and at this very moment, I have no patience for delays of any kind. "I think you wore these for me," he whispers, his lips brushing over the swell of my breast as his hand slips down over my stomach, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic. Arching my back to force his hand where I want it, I try to force back the groan that barely escapes between my clenched teeth.

"I think I remember saying this to you last time," I hiss, biting down on my bottom lip when his fingers press on that button that makes me shudder and shake beneath him, "so can you just shut up and fuck me, please?"

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't say another word, but instead, gets up on his knees, tugging my panties down and off, tossing them over his shoulder before pushing his pajama bottoms down; revealing his long, thick and very angry looking erection. Grabbing a pillow, I force the corner of it into my mouth and bite down as his fingers dig into the softer flesh of my hips as he pulls me onto him.

It isn't enough though, to silence me as he pulls my hips off of the bed and screws himself into me, pushing himself deeper. I bite down on my hand and then the corner of the quilt and still I can barely muffle the long drawn out moans and whimpers as his cock finds the places inside of me that make me see stars and make it impossible not to cry out.

I'm almost grateful when he flips me over and pushes my head down into the pillow, even if I'm almost certain that I'm never going to be able to breathe again. At least then I can give voice to the screams when his thrusts come hard and fast.

But just like in Vegas, it doesn't end there either, and when he pushes me up against the wall, his chest pressed to my back and my hands scrambling for purchase, for any hand hold, framed pictures begin to fall to the floor and I think I hear the sound of smashing glass but only faintly, because all I can hear is the roaring of blood in my veins and Jordan's voice, husky in my ear, saying over and over again:

"Mine, you're mine, you're fucking mine."


	12. Chapter 12

_*As always, thanks for all your support and funny feed back. It's super appreciated and it seems like you are digging this story as much as I am. Let me know what you think Tippi should do!_

**Chapter 12 ~ It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas**

I can feel a pleasant ache in my bones and a languid sort of stretch in my muscles that I haven't felt in a while as I swim towards the surface of consciousness, followed by a sort of warm tingling feeling at the base of my neck and that clammy feeling of sweat cooling on my skin. Reaching for the edge of a blanket to pull over my shoulders to hold off the chill in the morning air, I find an arm draped over me instead, a large hand softly cupping my breast.

Oh shit.

My eyes pop open and I shove my entire body backwards, sending Jordan flailing and flopping like a fish out of water towards the cold floor. Scrambling, I grab the sheet from where we've kicked it to the foot of the bed and drag it up over my breasts, staring wild eyed down at Jordan who only gazes back at me with a sleepy, satisfied sort of smile.

"What are you still doing here?" I hiss, glancing at the bedroom door that is thankfully still closed.

"You tired me out," he yawns, stretching his long limbs over his head before climbing back to his feet and moving towards the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" I whisper, kicking at him from under the sheet, aiming for knees, groin, anything to keep him off of the bed.

"Coming back to where it's warm. I was comfy, I was sleeping," he adds, kneeling on the edge of the bed and grabbing my arm when I reach out to push him away. "Now move over."

"No! You have to go back to your room. You can't be here," I snap, pushing at the immovable bulk of him but without result. He just stares down at my hand and then up into my eyes, smiling.

"You're so feisty, I like it," he grins, leaning down towards me, his soft pink lips brushing mine tenderly. I wince, my lips swollen and sore from both of us biting them, so I give him a taste of his own medicine, biting down on his bottom lip but it has the opposite effect to what I was hoping for. He only laughs and pushes me down into the mattress, his bulk holding me down as he pushes his way between my thighs.

"No, Jordan , no," I moan, but my body knows that I'm lying. I can already feel anticipatory wetness pooling between my legs as he nudges at me, can already feel the clenching at the small of my back and in the pit of my stomach.

"Open your legs," he whispers against my lips, pinning my arms over my head so I can scratch and push at him.

"No!" I snarl, turning my face away and l lying like a board beneath him, inert and unmoving.

"You're going to fight me now?" he chuckles, his teeth nipping playfully at my neck, at my shoulder.

"It's fucking daylight," I snarl, staring up at him with what I hope is a warning clear in my gaze.

"That makes a difference?" he asks, his lips closing over my nipple, his tongue swirling slowly around it until I arch my back, moaning beneath him.

"I can smell coffee," I whimper, my thighs parting for him despite my protests.

"It's on a timer," he explains, sliding inside in one fluid motion. "No one will be up yet, it's early," he adds, moaning into my ear as I tip my hips up to take him deeper in spite of the surrounding tenderness.

"I thought you were tired," I whine even as my body moves against his, with his, in a slow, gentle motion. Not like the frenzied, sweaty sex of the night before. Night? Or was it morning? How long has it been I wonder, and what time is it now?

"Not that tired," he whispers against my mouth, his lips parted over mine, barely touching so that our tongues twine outside of our mouths, reaching, touching and then withdrawing in a sort of dance that matches the gentle thrusts of our bodies. "I don't think I could be too tired for this," he adds, his entire weight pressing me down as I wrap my legs around the small of his back, pulling him into me. "Oh god," he moans, as I bite down on his shoulder, the orgasm coming more quickly as the dawn light progresses through the faded curtains as the sun begins its march across the sky.

* * *

"I could get used to this," I grin at her as I curl my body against hers', our legs twined, my arms wrapping around her, holding her close.

"You can't," she mutters quietly, her body soft and relaxed against mine. "We can't do this. Do you even realize what we've done? This is your brother's bed Jordan. I'm your brother's girlfriend," she sighs but makes no move to pull away from me. None of the hissing and scratching cat stuff that she usually does, not that I mind that.

"You weren't objecting before," I remind her, laying a kiss on her ivory shoulder, smiling at the bite marks I've left on her neck. Or should I say possession marks? "Besides, after what you said last night, why do you even care?"

"What do you mean, what I said?" she asks, squirming free of my arm and sitting up, tugging the blanket off of me and holding it around her like a shield. As if I haven't seen everything that's beneath it. As if I haven't kissed, licked, fondled every inch of her incredible body. "I don't remember having any deep and meaningful conversations."

"I didn't say they were deep," I muse, reaching out to tug at the coverlet, pulling her back towards me, "I just said you said…_things_."

"Things? What things?" she demands, her eyes narrowing, her hand slapping mine away from the pale white skin of her thigh, which she quickly tries to cover with the edge of the blanket. I stare at her for a long moment, waiting for her to remember, waiting for her to cast her mind back but she just stares back at me from the position she's taken on her knees above me, willing me to speak first.

"All that stuff you said about…you know, me being the best you'd ever had and how Marc doesn't do it like I do, how he doesn't get you, how he doesn't ring your bell. That stuff," I remind her sheepishly. It sounds so corny when I say it out loud. In fact it sounds downright egocentric. But I'm not the one that said it, _she_ did, and repeatedly I might add.

She opens her pretty mouth, like she's going to argue with me, but then she closes it and sets her lips in a thin line, her pouty red lips disappearing as denial sets in.

"If I did…_if _I said _any_ of those things," she begins, stepping back off of the bed and dragging the quilt with her like a roman toga, leaving me lying there, naked, staring after her, "it was in the heat of the moment. I didn't mean it. It's just…stuff you say, y'know, when you're…," she waves her free hand at the bed and then turns, heading for her bag. I watch as she begins to root through it, noticing the cute little pair of red lace panties she pulls out, all the while thinking about what she'd said to me and how she said it.

Certainly she was a little…_preoccupied_ at the time, but she still said them and what's more, the _way_ she said those things, I believed her. I actually felt sorry for my brother, well, even _more_ sorry for him after she's said those things.

"So what are you saying?" I ask finally. She pauses, with those red panties pulled up just past her knees and then she just shakes her head, continues to shimmy into them before reaching for a matching red bra. Very festive.

"This was a mistake," she mumbles, turning and fixing me with a glare. "Things got…out of hand and…and this never happened," she adds before turning back to her bag and yanking out a black skirt and steps into it.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't really work for me." I get up and rummage through my brother's drawers. The good thing about brothers is you might get a lot of hand me downs but then again, most of our stuff fits all of us. I could go to any of the closets or drawers in the house and find something that fits. Pulling out a pair of blue boxers, because now that she's almost fully dressed I feel a little…conspicuous sitting around in my birthday suit. She turns around, a red and black sweater in her hand, her other hand curled into a fist at her hip, and stares me down.

"What do you mean it _doesn't work_ for you? That's the way it is. Do you _want_ to hurt your brother?" she asks, her voice trembling with emotion as her gaze searches mine hopefully.

"Of course I don't want Marc to get hurt but, on the other hand, I have feelings too you know," I add, staring back at her and trying not to just stare at her breasts but they look so bodacious cupped in that red lace, so white, so soft. When I look back up into her dark eyes, they're open wide and I'm almost sure that they're beginning to shimmer with tears.

"What? What are you talking about?" she asks, biting down on her bottom lip.

"I love you," I state simply, watching her blink back at me like an owl.

"You don't…you can't….it was just sex for fuck's sake," she stammers, shaking her head but still staring back at me wild eyed. "You don't even know me. You don't know anything about me. We've had sex, twice, that's it. It doesn't mean anything." Shaking my head I let go the sigh I've been holding in and take a step towards her, but she takes a step back, shaking her head rapidly.

"I haven't been able to think about anything but you for months. I think that means _something_," I offer but she keeps shaking her head at me, but more like she doesn't want to hear what I'm saying than anything else.

"It's just…physical…nothing else," she snaps, tugging the sweater over her head. "Marc loves me. _He_ knows me. You…you don't know anything about me."

"That's not what you said last night," I remind her quietly, moving towards her quietly like I'm trying not to scare her off. "You said I get you like no one else. You said no one else has ever made you feel like that," I add, successfully cupping her cheek in my hand. Looking down into her dark eyes I can see all the fear and confusion I know I should be feeling, but for some reason I feel completely sure of what I'm saying and doing right now. "I know I've never felt so…crazy about anyone in my life." For one long, amazing moment, I'm sure she's going to let me kiss her but then she looks away and denies me access to her lips.

* * *

My entire body shakes when he touches my cheek and for just a moment, for a second, I want to kiss him. I want to put my arms around him and kiss him and let him take me back to bed and do all of those things that he does that make me forget about everything else. But then the moment passes and reality creeps back in and I manage to shake off the craving.

"You're letting little Jordy do the thinking," I whisper. "This was a mistake. This should never have happened. We're going to forget about this, forget this ever happened. I don't want to hurt him."

"I don't hear you saying you love him," he replies quietly, his fingers tightening on my cheek, forcing me to turn and look up into his sky blue eyes.

"Your brother is amazing and sweet and gentle and polite and I care about him, a lot," I manage, swallowing the words I can't say, not to Marc, not to anyone.

"But you don't love him," he repeats, and now the puppy dog look is gone from those blue eyes, replaced by scorn and disappointment. The look he gives me makes my chest tight, makes the tears I've been holding back spill over. Closing my eyes I turn my face away again. I can't face that look. "If you really loved him, it would be different," Jordan continues, his hands falling to my shoulders, his hands digging in as he gives me a gentle shake to make me look up at him, which I do, but only for a moment. "But if you don't, I can't let you pretend you do. Not after this."

"You don't know anything about our relationship," I snarl, pushing him away with what's left of my strength. "You don't know anything about us. How dare you talk down to me like that!" I hiss, feeling my claws come out, wanting to scratch that smirk off of his face. Thankfully he shrugs and suddenly looks tired and young and sad.

"I know my brother thinks he loves you. I know he's going to ask you to marry him today and I know that I can't let him do that. Not now." His blue eyes search mine for a moment and I'm guessing that all he sees is the deer in the headlights look of utter shock.

"He's…he's…." I can't get the words out. It's like my tongue doesn't know how to form the words or my brain won't send the right signals to make my mouth work properly.

"He's got the ring and everything," Jordan continues nonchalantly, shrugging his big shoulders. "He's going to do it when we're all opening presents. If you don't tell him by then…I will."


	13. Chapter 13

_First and foremost, Thank You Thank You a thousand times thank you for your encouraging words and funny emails. Keep em coming. _

_Second just a note about something I hope you will look forward to. The reason this chapter was a couple days in the making is that I just wrote the first chapter of a sequel to Hey There Cinderella, so once this is done...ta-da you'll be swept back into the Sidney universe. _

_Now...on with the Marc and Jordy show_

**Chapter 13 ~ Have Your Self A Merry Little Christmas**

Brightly coloured paper litters the room and squeals of delight fill the air but I can't join in. I can hardly smile. Even when their mother (oh god, _their_ mother) hands me a big package with a coffee table book of photographs of Canada in it, I can barely force myself to say thank you.

My hands are sweating, my pulse is racing and every time I look up Jordan is shooting me a look that would make Medusa wither and die. Worse than that, Marc keeps trying to hold my hand, especially when one of his brothers is opening one of "our" presents; simple things like video games, cds, t-shirts with rude sayings on them and watches. Stuff you'd buy people if you weren't millionaires. I don't know what I expected, cars or condos or something. It's so normal that somehow it makes what's happening even worse.

I'd convinced myself that if they were giving out diamond encrusted cell phones and yachts that maybe a little sex between brothers might not be a big thing, but seeing everyone in their festive Christmas themed sweaters and funky socks and reindeer slippers makes me feel even worse. I think I'd be happier right now if a firing squad marched out from behind the Christmas tree and put me out of misery.

I keep telling myself that I'm only making things worse for myself by waiting but I can't quite make myself pull Marc away from his family. I keep telling myself that it's the least I can do to let him at least have this moment before I ruin his day.

What do I tell him?

I look over at Jordan and he gives me that scary look again, the look that says I have about thirty seconds before he turns me into a pile of steaming ashes. I'd asked him, before I pushed him physically from Marc's room. His answer was 'just tell him the truth'.

That's easy for him to say.

Which is why I can't even watch him open his presents; I can't make myself smile at him, can't pretend to be having a good time. I can't and then tell him I've fucked his brother. I just need to wait until everyone's heading for the breakfast table and then pull him aside.

Or not.

I keep going over what Jordan said to me. Marc's going to propose. Marc has a ring and he's going to propose.

Fuck. What have I done?

It's not like I would have said yes anyway. Or would I have?

Fuck.

My head is pounding and it feels like the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat, loud and erratic in my ears. I feel like I'm about to have a full blown panic attack and one thought keeps repeating in my brain, louder and louder and more and more insistent. Run. For god's sake, _run_.

* * *

I can feel the tension in Tippi's every muscle as she sits, very still, beside me and I can't help but think that she's disappointed. First, in me, for not sneaking down to see her last night and secondly for having to watch us all ripping into our mountain of presents. I wish I'd had time to explain to her how tired I was last night, and that I had to do some catching up with Jared and the next thing I knew it was morning and Jared was bouncing on his bed like he'd reverted to his six year old self and couldn't wait to get at the presents under the tree.

But I'm going to make all of that up to her. I'm just waiting until everyone runs out of steam, until the shredding and tearing slows down and everyone sits back to catch their breath. That's when I'm going to do it, pop the question. I can't wait to see the look of surprise on her face, because I know she won't be expecting it this soon, and besides, she probably thinks I wouldn't do something like this in front of everyone.

She'd be just about right, because I'm definitely _not_ the kind of guy who'd do something like this on the kiss cam at MSG. God no! I'd thought about waiting for New Years, do it in one of those buggies in Central Park like when we were dating….

When we were dating…I'm already doing it I realize with a grin. I'm already putting our dating lives into the past and looking forward to our future. Me and the Mrs., bringing the kids to Christmas here in a couple years, watching them shred wrapping paper under the Christmas tree with my parents looking on, the doting grandparents.

Yeah, that sounds just about right.

Feeling for the ring in my pocket, I look over at Eric who winks back at me and gives Tanya's hand a squeeze. I think Tanya's excited to have a sister-in-law so that she's not the only one getting shredded on the boards on the net. We'd all sort of hoped for Heather but….

I glance over at Jordan to find him staring down at the unopened package in front of him, only to realize that it's our present to him. Mine and Tippi's. We bought him that new iPod doc because Talbot apparently broke Jordan's at a party.

"Open it bro. It won't bite. Tippi does, but I don't think her presents do," I add, nudging Tip who looks back at me alarmed, like maybe I just woke her up or something.

"Marc!" she hisses at me, glancing first at Jordan and then at my parents, expecting them to be shocked no doubt. Obviously she doesn't know much about the parents of boys.

"Look at us," my mother says, reaching forward to grab a handful of shredded paper from the floor and heading towards the fireplace, carefully peeling of a missed bow and pressing it tape first to Jordan's forehead. "We've been having an orgy of greed and you've only had one present," she says, turning to Tippi with a motherly smile. "There must be something else under the tree, maybe…."

"That's alright mom, I've got this," I grin, turning to Tippi and sliding off the couch, coming to rest one knee on the floor while I dig the ring out of my pocket. Her eyes go impossibly wide as she looks down at me and the hand that I'm holding quakes uncontrollably. I'd half expected a 'what are you doing?' or even for Tippi to run screaming from the room, but she does neither. She just sits there, staring at me, but her dark eyes fill with silvery tears.

* * *

Tippi looks up at me over Marc's red hair, tears spilling onto her pale cheeks, and I can see the plea in her gaze. It says, 'don't make me do this'. I don't want to hurt my brother, but I can't have any sympathy now. If she cared for him like she claims to do, she would have spared him this moment. She would have told him already. No matter how imploring her gaze is, all I can do is shake my head and remind her silently to keep with the agreement and tell him.

I don't even hear Marc say the words but I know he must have asked the question because the only sound I hear in the room is the soft sound of Tippi crying. It sets my teeth on edge. Glancing around, everyone's eyes are on her and Marc, looking expectant and happy.

This is going to get fucking ugly and I'm starting to have second thoughts about forcing her to tell him. She'd begged and pleaded with me to let her tell him when they got back to New York but I'd said no. Okay, so my pride was hurt right at that moment. What I'd expected was for her to realize it was me she wanted and go running off to tell Marc it was over. What I didn't expect was for her to still have feelings for him.

I don't like coming second. Maybe it's a brother thing or a hockey thing. Either way, I didn't want to him to be all happy and kissy and lovey-dovey in front of me, not even for a day. The thought of it made me sick, still does make me sick, but now…well seeing everyone else looking all happy for him…well I'd change it if I could but she doesn't look back up at me. She's looking down into his eyes and the tears are just running down her face and her bottom lip, the one that I kept wanting to bite last night, that even now I want to tug between my teeth, is trembling with emotion.

I guess there's one thing I can do for her now, one thing that might…_might_ make things not as bad, at least for her.

"She's mine," I say quietly, my voice breaking like I'm some kind of thirteen year old pubescent teenager but I know everyone hears me. I hear Tanya gasp. I hear my father whisper something like 'what's going on' to mom and I know everyone's looking at me, but I'm not talking to everyone. I'm talking to Marc. Or I'm talking to the back of his head, until he slowly turns around, the big chunk of diamond still in his hand, his face white as a ghost.

"What?" he asks, very calmly, but my brother's smarter than that. Marc's the brains of the operation, followed by Eric, so I know he's already putting the pieces together.

"The mystery girl, my mystery girl from Vegas, it's Tippi," I begin, watching as he clenches his jaw, as his eyes grow cold and his hands curl into fists. The diamond must be digging into his hand, but if it is, he's not showing any signs of pain, just pure, white, rage.

"No, she's not," he says calmly, too calmly. Marc is also the most controlled of us all, the most collected, but I can see that carefully held together control begin to unravel around the edges as he stares at me.

"She is and she knows it and…and…," my courage begins to fail me as he stands up so that he's looking down at me. It seemed so cool in my head when I thought of it before, how I was going to tell him that I was bangin' his chick, but now…now it just seems…well, _mean_.

"And what Jordan?" my mom asks quietly in that voice that I figure only the mother of boys can use, the one that says she doesn't have to wait for dad to get home to use his belt on your ass.

"And we slept together last night," Tippi replies quietly, astonishing everyone in the room, including me.

* * *

Everyone turns to look at me, including Marc, and right now, that's the only face I need to look at. They're all hating me right now. Every one of them, and how can I blame them? I'm the fucking tramp that's just broken Marc's heart. I can see it written all over his handsome features. He's hurt and angry, and so pissed off that he's got these red dots on his cheeks and his ears are turning a bright tomato red.

And this is where we came in, me sitting between two brothers, both with the same piercing blue eyes, the same strong jaw, the same wide sensuous mouth, and I keep thinking, how did I get here? How could I have been this stupid?

"I'm sorry Marc…you don't even know how bad I feel right now," I begin but he closes his blue eyes, like he can't bear to look at me, and I understand. I feel disgusting.

"You fucked _my brother_?" He enunciates every word slowly, deliberately, like it's hard for him to even say it out loud. It's pretty hard to hear too. I nod, but I know he can't see it and it's not really the same as saying it out loud either.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, feeling stupid when I say it. As if sorry is going to fix this. As if sorry is enough to make things better.

"You fucked my girlfriend?" he asks, as if for confirmation, turning back to his brother and this time he manages to say it quickly, like ripping off a band aid. Jordan shrugs in reply and I can tell he's feeling just about as awkward as I am about all of this. I can barely stand to look at him but I'm feeling quite certain that whatever I see in his face, it's nothing like the looks I must be getting from around the room.

"You don't understand," Jordan says finally when Marc takes a step towards him, fists clenched at his sides. "I told you…I told you how I felt about her."

"Not about _her_," Marc snaps, pointing at me, and for some reason that makes me flinch and wish for a hole to open up in the couch and suck me in.

"You're not in my shoes man. I'm crazy about her. I told you," Jordan continues, squaring his shoulders and standing up to meet his brother's gaze face to face. Even when Marc takes another step towards him, Jordan doesn't back down. "It's not like we wanted to hurt you or anything but it's the same for her," Jordan continues, gesturing vaguely towards me. "She wanted it. She came looking for it."

"What?" I snap, jumping to my feet, indignant. "I wasn't the one in the kitchen feeling myself up after dinner," I remind Jordan in what I hope is a threatening tone.

"I don't remember you telling me no," he replies quietly, glancing over at me with this odd mixture of passion and anger in his eyes. "Or last night. It was pretty much more Jordan, harder Jordan, if I remember correctly."

Jordan barely gets the words out of his mouth when Marc tackles him, grabbing him around the middle like a linebacker and taking him down onto the ground where he starts to pummel him like a UFC fighter. I hear screams and shouts but my attention is focused on the two men wrestling for domination at my feet, brightly coloured wrapping paper flying in every direction, crumpling beneath them and winding itself around them until they look like some kind of odd present, right down to ribbons and bows stuck in their hair.

I can't even make myself tell them to stop. I just think if I was Marc, of course I'd want to beat Jordan up and part of me is sickly gratified that Jordan is even willing to fight over this. I also can't look away, like I have to watch this, like this is some kind of penance. But it won't be enough. I can't imagine what will ever be enough.

It doesn't even seem real. Not until Eric is pulling me back and Jared is trying to pry them apart. It's only seeing the blood smeared on their faces that makes it really sink in; brothers, shedding each other's blood, over me.

I must be the worst person in the entire world.

"I think I'd better take you to the airport," Eric says calmly, quietly, leading me away from the combatants. Whether I nodded or not, I don't know. All I do know is that Tanya is packing my things into my suitcase, and when I reach out to grab something to fold it nicer, she glares at me and pulls it out of my hand so I end up watching her shove my clothes in haphazardly until she can barely close my case. And then Eric walks me out the door to the car and helps me in, without a word.

The last thing I see is Jordan standing in the window, a towel held to his nose, watching us pull out of the driveway.


	14. Chapter 14

_As always, thank you so much for all your feedback. I've been toying with how to write the next chapters but hopefully you'll like this!_

**Chapter 14 ~ Fools Like Me**

The night is grey and cold and there isn't a single flight out until the morning. Leaning my forehead against the floor to ceiling window, I find myself staring out at the mist and fog that's blanketing the airport and comparing it the way my brain feels. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to make anything come out clear.

How did I get myself into this mess?

I always pride myself on being the one with the highest IQ in the room, of being able to look at a situation logically, analytically not reacting, not just acting out emotionally. I don't just _do_ things. My biggest impulse – ever – is shoes for crying out loud. I don't just sleep with random men. I've always been too damn choosy.

Now, not only have I just slept with a guy I don't know, but I've done it fucking _twice_.

I'll be the first to admit that I have a history of fucking up when it comes to men. I either choose badly or I chase them away. Marc's the first decent guy I've managed to hold on to long enough to almost make something with and now I've totally screwed myself out of that too.

With my eyes closed tightly, I try to imagine myself walking down the aisle towards him. Would I be happy? Would I feel content? Would he?

Does it matter?

Sighing, I shake my head. Of course it doesn't matter. He won't ever forgive me and I'm damn certain that I'll probably never be able to forgive myself.

But that's the pattern. I mean, this is the worst I've ever managed to completely fuck up, but it sort of goes along with the general pattern of my attempt at a relationship. Things are going along fine and then I figure some way of driving the guy away. I mean, usually it's just fighting with them about something stupid and refusing to give in, to admit, even to myself, that I might only be doing it to prove that I'm better and smarter than they are.

And that is really just my way of trying not to let them see how insecure I really am. It's just my way of protecting that little girl inside of me that desperately wants to be loved. The little girl whose parents didn't know how to show affection, who never told their little girl that she was beautiful, never gushed about how accomplished she was, never told her that they were proud of her.

Which, my therapist tells me, is why I don't feel worthy of love. Not even of like. So when I do face that emotional stuff, I push everyone away, even friends.

Like right now, I should be on the phone to Miki. I should be crying on the phone and telling her how stupid I am. She should be telling me that it will all be alright and that I'll get over it and there's plenty of fish in the sea. But I'm not because I know she's in the bosom of her family, dogs and presents and grandparents and a big turkey dinner while I sit here in a cold airport terminal, all alone and I don't really want to hear the whole happy families thing right now when I was so close to having it for myself. The Staals…all of them were so nice, and now they hate me.

I also just don't want to hear anyone else tell me how stupid I've been. Maybe I don't want hear her tell me that I've sunk my own ship, again.

Maybe later I'll be able to tell her about it. Maybe she'll forgive me for getting all wrapped up in my own shit and forgetting to even call her on Christmas day. She'll probably even understand and everything will go back to normal, but I'll know and I'll feel bad about it and it will all come back eventually and we'll fight about something else and this will come up….

I don't do emotional. Emotional is scary. It's alien.

Still, I knew Marc loved me and I hadn't run away, at least not yet. I'd even been willing to talk to him about how I was having trouble connecting to him physically. I was willing to work on it because he was the best thing I'd ever had.

Like today, I can't even remember a guy _ever_ looking at me the way he did this morning when he was on his knee in front of me. He looked at me like…like I was the best thing in the entire world, like I was amazing, like I was beautiful and wonderful and he was happy and I ruined it all. I broke his heart.

Maybe I even broke my own.

I should just become a nun, except I'd probably be struck down dead if I went in a church right now. God would be like 'are you fucking kidding me?' and shoot a bolt of lightening right down on me head and turn me into a skid mark on the floor.

"Well I'm glad you can smile about something."

I'm ready to give the finger to yet another smart ass security guard with their observations about a pretty girl like me all alone on a Christmas day, but the words freeze on the tip of my tongue when I look up into ice blue eyes that look as tired and worn out as I feel.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

* * *

It had been easy to leave the house without being noticed. After all, I was the worst son in the world now and a complete pariah with my brothers. Not that I blamed any of them. I knew what it must look like to them. I hoped that later, maybe not tomorrow but sometime, they would be able to see it from my point of view. Maybe later, but for now, no one cared if I left in my dad's old beat up Ford pick up and headed out into a sub zero wind chill and blowing snow.

Besides, it was partly my fault she was all alone at the airport. I could understand why Eric just dumped her at the curb like a bag of trash but I couldn't let her sit there all by herself. No one in my family might think so right now, but I do have morals and feelings and besides that I'm not a complete jackass.

And I want to see her. Despite everything, I still want to make her see that we have something or at least we could have something.

So that's why I dare the black ice and, having left without my iPod, I'm forced to listen to some static laced crap am station, knowing that there's every chance of my getting there and having her tell me to fuck off. That's the main thing on my mind as I turn the big rusty old heap into the empty parking lot. Will she tell me to beat it before I even get the chance to ask her what has me trudging through the snow and slipping and sliding across the sidewalk?

At least I'll have a captive audience, I muse as the automatic doors slide open in front of me with a low 'whoosing' sound, followed closely by a flood of very welcome warm air. The heater in the old truck works, but not that well.

She's not that hard to find. Other than a janitor or two, the place is deserted. She's sitting along a row of seats staring out at the snow drifting across the abandoned runways with this strange blend of emotions on her face. From anger to sadness and finally a bemused little smile and that's the look that suits her best of all.

"Well I'm glad you can smile at something," I say, standing at the end of the row as she blinks up at me and I'm glad she doesn't immediately throw something at me, which is a start. She doesn't even look disappointed, like maybe she was hoping it would be mark standing in front of her and not me.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, immediately hiding a yawn behind her hand.

"Well I wasn't exactly welcome at home, as you could probably guess," I explain, which actually makes her almost laugh, but she bites down on the full bottom lip of hers, the one that I can still see my own bite mark on. How Marc missed that…, "and I know there are no flights out so…," I dangle the hotel room key from my hand and shrug by way of a continued explanation. That's when her eyes get dark and dangerous looking. "Look, no…expectations, but you have to admit…this isn't exactly private," I point out as a nosy security guard walks by, keeping a close eye on her I'd guess, "and it's not like either of us are going anywhere tonight."At this she at least shrugs and then nods, which I take as I agreement and move to pick up her bag. "By the way…I'm sorry we…I mean _I_ ruined your Christmas."

"It wasn't just you," she begins, putting her hand over mine and looking up at me with tired, sad eyes. "But thanks for saying it anyway."

* * *

With neither of us having said much in the few miles it takes to get to the nearest budget motel, I'm almost beginning to wonder if he's actually telling me the truth, that he's not expecting anything and for some reason I can't decide, even when I open the door and see twin beds, if I'm happy about it or not.

I should be, I tell myself as he puts my bag down on one bed and then goes to sit on the other, immediately picking up the remote from the top of the small television and turning it on. On the other hand, I start to dread the conversation I know will naturally follow if we don't just have sex.

I've given it some thought, of course, in the couple of hours I spent in the airport. I might be emotionally crippled but I'm not entirely heartless. The man said he loved me. Not quite in the same romantic and sweet way his brother had declared his undying affection for me, but he had said it all the same and I can't ignore it.

"I won't move to Pittsburgh, before you ask," I begin, tugging off my furry black Uggs and unzipping my ski jacket. "I like my job. It's a really good firm and I have an office in Manhattan. I'd have to be out of my mind to give all that up. Besides I don't even know you," I add, just to put a cherry on the top of my refusal. I hear a sort of piggy snorting sound and look across at Jordan to find him smiling at the TV.

"You're pretty sure of yourself," he laughs, flipping through the channels at warp speed before leaving it on Much Music and turning back to me. "Look I'm not like Eric and Marc. I'm not looking to get hooked up permanently, so don't go getting any ideas about rocks like the one my brother was offering, okay?"

"Good, right," I smile, and then force myself to look away from the amused look on his handsome features. The boy sure knows how to make me feel about two feet tall. "I'm glad we cleared that up," I add, reaching for a pillow and pulling it onto my lap. Right about now I feel like I need to be held or that I could do with a big fucking hole to open up and suck me away into some parallel universe where I'm not such a fucking idiot.

"That doesn't mean we can't…you know…date or whatever," he adds, actually managing to wipe all of the sarcasm out of his voice and actually sound modest, even a little shy. Forcing myself to look back up at him, that confident, even cocky, young man is gone, replaced by someone who reminds me more of his brother. Shrugging, he continues, "I mean, we play in New York like…a lot, between Jersey, the Islanders and Buffalo…and I guess I could come up sometimes when we have a day or two." I find myself smiling back at him, feeling almost as shy and awkward as he seems to be feeling, which is a pretty new feeling altogether.

"You don't think you might actually get disowned for that?" I offer, unable to keep the smile off of my face or the thought of all of his brothers ganging up on him and beating him into an unrecognizable mountain of meat.

"Yeah, probably, but…they might get over it. I mean, they probably will. Bros before ho's right?" Shaking my head I can't stop myself from laughing.

"You did _not_ just say that," I snort, tossing the pillow across the room at him. "Who the hell are you calling a whore?"

"I meant blood's thicker than water," he laughs, holding his hands up defensively when I reach for another pillow to toss at him. "What? It's true, we're brothers. Hey, stop throwing shit," he laughs, tossing one of the pillows back and then picking up one of his own and standing up on the bed in a defensive stance, swinging the pillow in front of him like a bat.

"Oh you are _so_ going to get it for calling me a whore," I threaten, grabbing two pillows and scrambling up onto the bed and wind milling my arms. "I am lethal with this shit, you'd better bring you're a game Jordy boy."

"Oh I can out reach you any day of the week. Any day of the week," he laughs, using his long arms to reach across the space to tag my leg, hard, nearly sending me off balance.

"Oh, so you want to play huh? It is on like Donkey Kong bitch!"

And with that, the feathers flew until our arms were too tired to wield our weapons, or at least mine were. His had long since exploded and left the beds and floor covered with polyester fill.

"Feel better?" Jordan asks, lying on his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, and because he's laughing.

"I do, yeah," I admit, unable to stop myself from grinning.

"Good," he sighs at last, closing his eyes. "Because I'm fucking tired and I don't know about you, but I could use some sleep." He turns to me, his blue gaze searching mine and I nod, but there's something in my stomach and an idea that keeps coming back into my head, no matter how hard I try to dislodge it.

"Can I…I mean, don't get the wrong idea," I begin, feeling my entire face flush as I stammer and stutter my way through the explanation, "but uh…can I…would you…you know just for like warmth or comfort or whatever?" I look up at him and am relieved to see him looking back at me with a serious look. I'm even more relieved when he nods and gets up off of the bed.

"I'll even sleep above the covers," he offers, as I tug off my sweater and wiggle out of my skirt before sliding underneath the sheets and pulling the one remaining intact pillow under my head. "I'll just go and see if they'll give us some more pillows. I'll be right back."

I don't even remember the door closing behind him. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I'm out. After all, it's been a fucking long day.

* * *

I wake up with the feeling of fingertips dancing across my stomach. At first I'm pretty sure I'm dreaming, after all, I've dreamed of her often enough. Just because I'm sleeping in the same bed as her doesn't mean I can't dream of her too. But then the hands go north, rather than south, and let's face it, I'm a guy, I'd always choose south. I open my eyes and look down at her hands sliding slowly up my chest until her thumbs are making slow, almost painful circles around my nipples.

Her eyes are intently following her hands but when I can't hold back a groan any longer, her gaze snaps upwards to meet mine. Without waiting or an explanation, without even pausing to ask her what she thinks she's doing, I wrap my hand around her wrist and push her hand down, moaning when she makes her fingernails dig into my skin.

The moan quickly turns into a soundless gasp for air as her fingers close around my dick and her other hand joins the party, stroking my nuts gently until I can barely breathe. I feel her lips close around one of my nipples and it's almost like I have to hold onto her hair, like if I don't I'll just explode into a million pieces.

Just when I'm sure I won't be able to hold back any longer she lets go and slides her hands beneath the elastic waistband of my boxers and pulls them down, and then does the same with her own little bikini style panties, tossing them both onto the floor. She opens her pretty mouth then, like she's finally going to say something, but then seems to think better of it, and straddles me silently instead and then slowly lowers herself over me until our hips come into contact and my dick is entirely sheathed inside of her.

Reaching forward, she takes my two hands and guides them up to her chest, pressing them into the edges of the lace until I get the idea. Scooping her full breasts out, I begin the same torturous circles with my own thumbs until her eyes flutter closed and she tilts her head back and lets out a strangled sort of cry. We begin to move then, a slow rolling rhythm, as if by some mutual agreement neither of us wants this to end too soon.

Even in the full dark, I can't help but admire her pale, ivory skin and the way it almost glows as she moves over me, her long dark mane falling down her back, its' tendrils reaching around to brush my arms as she rides me. I push up into her, just to watch her lovely lips fall open as she gasps when I find that spot inside of her. Squeezing her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, twisting them, I am rewarded by her biting down on that full bottom lip of hers.

All these little things I know, have learned, I use to bring her closer to the edge, to take my mind of the slick heat sucking at my cock. For just a moment, when she leans against my hands, letting her hair waterfall around us, I can't help but wonder if my brother ever made her dark eyes gleam like that, if he ever saw that feral sort of grin she gets when she's close to cumming.

"Faster," she breathes, but I shake my head. I don't want her to cum, not yet, and not without me.

Sliding my hands down to her tiny waist, I roll her over until she's pinned beneath me. Now I have the upper hand and she knows it as she struggles to press herself up against me. The little whimpers and the way she struggles to pull me deeper inside of her tells me that she's close, that she wants to finish and maybe, just maybe, she doesn't care if I do or not. But I know her body. I know how to bring her and make her beg for more.

With one last hard thrust inside of her, just to remind her of what she's craving, I pull out entirely and slide down her body until I'm between her thighs, until her knees are draping over my shoulders and I can pull her to the edge of the mattress and kneel on the floor in worship.

It's her turn to dig her fingers deep in my hair as I taste the juices flowing from her and then she lets out a long high pitched cry as I delve inside of her with my tongue. Her thighs begin to quiver as I sweep upwards with my tongue, finding that hard, swollen little button that makes her squirm and her hips to leave the mattress as I nibble and flick my tongue against it.

With just the right mixture of teeth and tongue, I feel her juices flood my mouth and drip from my chin, but I'm not nearly done yet. I have her at my mercy and if she's going to go back to New York alone then she's going to go back with my mark everywhere on her pale skin and the memory of my name spelled out against her clit.

Her back arches as I reach the second 'a' in my last name and it's my name she cries out as her body shudders and quakes, and only then do scramble to my feet, digging my fingers into the soft flesh of her hips as I shove my way back inside the now almost unbearable heat of her cunt. With her hips entirely off of the bed, I can thrust deep inside of her and rub against her g-spot at the same time, the head of my cock finding that spot that won't let me go any further but makes her whimper loudly, makes her shake her head from side to side, sending her long dark hair fanning out over the white bed linens like a dark halo.

"Tell me again," I hiss, having to clench my teeth in an effort to hold back from exploding inside of her. "Tell me how good it is. Tell me I'm better than him."

"No," she whimpers, shutting her eyes tight and turning her face from me, grabbing a handful of sheet in each hand and clenching her own teeth. Thrusting hard enough so that our bodies meet with a wet slapping sound, I ask her again.

"Tell me. Tell me I'm the best." Little lights are beginning to flash in front of my eyes and I'm sure I won't last more than another minute. I only have one last weapon in my arsenal, and that is to pull out altogether, which makes her cry out in frustration, her dark eyes popping open and her full lips pursing. "Tell me Tippi. Tell me I'm the only one that does it for you."

She looks up at me, defiant, sweat slicked, angry and very beautiful. Letting her back down onto the bed, I slide just the head of my cock inside of her and raise my eyebrow as if to say 'I'm waiting, you can have more when you tell me'. At first I think she's just going to continue to maintain her silence, but then her bottom lip quivers and she reaches up and brushes her fingertips along the line of my jaw.

"You already know it. Just shut up and fuck me Jordan," she says, grinning suddenly as her hand drops and her fingers give one of my nipples a hard twist, sending a shooting pain through my body that's offset only by her body swallowing mine, her fingers leading my cock home.

* * *

Not for the first time, I leave the scene of the crime with my boots in hand, sneaking out to the parking lot where a cab is idling, sending clouds of exhaust into the dark air of the early morning hours. I hand the cabbie my bag and slip into the back seat, sparing the closed hotel door one long, last look, imagining the blonde haired boy lying spent across the bed inside.

My body aches in that good kind of way and I don't feel quite as horrible as I did the last time I headed towards the airport. In fact, I have this secret sort of Mona Lisa grin on my face that I can't quite get rid of. There's definitely something to be said for the energy and inexhaustibility of a twenty one year old. That, and I've left him with yet another disaster to pay for and I can't help but think he might feel the need to punish me for that the next time we meet, and that makes me smile.

"Did you have a good Christmas visit?" the cabbie asks as he turns the nose of the cab out onto the street. With a barely stifled yawn I shrug my shoulders.

"I've had better, but I guess it turned out okay." The cabbie looks at me quizzically in the rear view mirror and I just smile back at him. It's not like I can explain it to anyone.

Well, maybe Miki I think, pulling out my cell phone and turning it on, plugging in a short text.

_Hey Mik, u awake? U r so not going to believe this…._


	15. Chapter 15

_I'm worried that last one may have some of you on life support or at the very least sitting close to a defibrillator and I thought about taking it easy on you for this chapter but then I thought...nah!_

**Chapter 15 ~ Storms**

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Miki asks, again, as she stands by the door in her warmest clothes, thickest jacket and mittens. New Years Eve in Times Square might be packed but it's bitterly cold outside, and no where I want to be tonight, especially since she started seeing that lawyer from the third floor. Third wheel? No thanks.

"Popcorn, chick flick, chocolate fudge sauce and rocky road ice cream in the freezer, I'm good thanks," I smile at her as she stares back at me, motherly concern in her eyes. "Honestly Mik, you go, I can totally entertain myself here. I promise you won't come home to find me hanging from the shower curtain," I add with a grin that makes her roll her eyes at me.

"Not funny Tip," she sighs, shaking her head at me before grabbing a toque and a scarf from the table near the door.

"And I promise, I'll put my iPod in before I go to sleep, just in case," I add with a wink which makes her eyes go wide as she pushes her date towards the door.

Laughing to myself I hit play on the dvd and settle back under a fleece blanket. Just me, Season Four of Gray's Anatomy, my thermal pajamas and….

The buzzer on the door sounds as soon as the dialogue starts and I grumble a number of curse words under my breath as I hit the pause button. Putting my bowl of popcorn aside, I fold the blanket back and head for the door, still cursing.

"What did you forget? Your keys?" I snap, pushing the door open and immediately looking up, not down where Miki should be. Mostly because it's not Miki, it's Marc. "What are you..," my voice trails off when I see the fury in his blue eyes but I barely have time to acknowledge that much before he has me by both shoulders and his lips are hovering just over mine.

I have to admit, even though I know I'll have bruises later where his fingers are currently digging into the flesh of my upper arms, I'm a bit turned on by the whole silent aggression thing. Can I help it if I'm a little kinky that way?

"You can't keep seeing him," he growls at last, his blue eyes blazing like gas flames as they search my face. "He's my brother. I…I forbid you."

"You…_forbid_ _me_?" I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. It just sounds so…paternal and ridiculous.

"Damn't Tippi, this isn't a joke," he snarls, turning so that he can press me up against the back of the door, effectively using me to close it. "I love…no I _loved_ you," he adds, correcting himself mid sentence. Just hearing him say that makes the already heavy lead weight that's been sitting in the pit of my stomach grow in size.

"No, I'm sorry, you're right" I manage to wheeze while he presses against me and I can tell he's fighting the urge not to shake me like a dog will its' prey. Not that I can blame him. I'm sure he'd love to snap my neck and have done with me and I'm sure there isn't a court in the land that would convict him if he did. Reaching up, I touch his cheek with my fingers and he closes his eyes. First as if he's cherishing the moment and then his elegant Grecian nose wrinkles and he shakes his head.

"Don't…don't try and make it better," he says quietly, but through clenched teeth and the anger In his tone is unmistakable. "I hate you right now. You can't even…you don't know…."

"But I _am_ sorry. I didn't want to hurt you Markie," I whisper, feeling tears welling in my eyes, hating the reflection I see of myself in his eyes when he looks at me.

"Don't. Call. Me. That." Looking into my eyes and then letting his grey blue eyes search my face as if he's looking for some sign of the person he used to love, he finally shakes his head and makes a face, like he smells something bad. "Is this what you like?" he asks, leaning in so that he's whispering in my ear, so that his breath warms my cheek. "Do you like it rough? Is that it?" Letting go of my shoulder, he reaches up and gives a tug on my hair so that I have to face him. "Is this better? Is this what you want?" Biting my lip, I nod and then let out a whimper when his other hand reaches up and grabs a hold of my chin, his long fingers digging into the soft flesh of my cheeks as he stares at me like I make him want to puke. Tears pour down my cheeks but he doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he doesn't care. Instead he kisses me, hard and long, forcing his tongue between my lips, the rasp of his unshaven upper lip burning my mouth.

* * *

Firstly, just seeing her makes my chest go tight, my head swim and my stomach do things that make me worry about all the beer I've had at the bar with the guys, trying to work up my courage to face her.

Then, when the red mist falls and I have her pressed up against the door, all I can think of is Jordan touching her, kissing her, _having_ her and I suddenly I want to do things to her that...that I shouldn't. But when she whimpers, when her nipples poke at me through her pajama top and her eyes flutter closed I realize that she wants me to do those things to. She does actually like this. She does want me to take her, here, now up against this wall.

It's all just like Jordan said. It's all true I realize as I feel her leg slide up and around mine, pulling me closer, urging me on.

And I can't do it. Just like Jordan said I wouldn't be able to.

This isn't what I want. I'm not this…I can't do this…_whatever_ this is.

"Please," she whimpers, her hand sliding down between us, trying to stroke me to life through my jeans, but instead I let her go and turn away from her, shaking my head to clear the dark images of her squirming and crying from my mind. Because not me, that's not what I want and it isn't me I see her with. It's Jordan. "Marc?" I feel her hands on my shoulders but I don't want her touching me now. She's…spoiled goods and worse than that. She doesn't feel like she's mine. She's not my Tippi. Not anymore.

"This was a mistake, I'm sorry," I whisper, taking a few steps away from her and then holding my hand up to hold her off when she moves to hold me. "Don't Tipp…just…stay away from me." When I look up at her she's looking back at me wide eyed, her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Don't…don't you _dare_ look at me like that," she hisses, pointing at me and shaking her head in disbelief. "I am not some kind of…some kind of _whore_," she adds, her eyes narrowing as I stare back at her, unable to keep the thoughts of her, together with my brother, out of my face. "I didn't want it to happen. It just did and you…you're not allowed to stand there and…and _judge_ me."

"Is that all?" I ask, unable to change my expression, to clear the thoughts from my mind. "You're upset because you think I'm judging you? Because what you did wasn't fucking wrong I suppose?" Her pretty face goes ashen, and her eyes go very round and then she turns away from me, covering her mouth with her hands but it does nothing to stifle the sound of her sobbing.

"I said I was sorry," she says, her voice almost a moan as she crumples into chair, her pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them and pressing her forehead to her forearm. So flexible, I used to brag about that to the guys. Now I'll probably never hear the end of it on the ice, how my little brother is fucking her.

"And you think sorry means anything? Do you honestly think it fucking changes anything Tipp? Do you?" She looks up at me, her pretty dark eyes red rimmed, but this time her soft lips are pressed into a thin hard line as she shakes her head.

"What do you want me to do?" she asks, resentment flashing behind her almost black eyes as she stares across the room at me. "If I could, I'd change it. But it's not my fault that you're…that you're…," her voice trails away as some of the determination leaks out of her expression. Like she can't or won't say the words we're both thinking.

"That I'm boring?" I ask, Jordan's words reverberating in my brain as I look at her now. 'S_he likes it rough_' he said to me as he tried to explain why she'd come to him, why they couldn't stay away from one another. '_She likes it when I take control. Some girls are like that'_. Her plump pink lips move but no words come out, but her eyes give her thoughts away. She can't even argue the point. Or won't. Either way it's another brutal hit to my pride, if I even have any left.

"I didn't want to hurt you," she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you."

"But you're not _in love_ with me," I correct her, noting the bitterness in my own voice when I look at her, wishing with all of what's left of my broken heart that I could change this moment, but I know I can't. Biting her bottom lip, she shakes her head and bursts into tears.

Part of me wants to comfort her. It feels like the right thing to do. But on the other hand, she broke my heart and part of me wants her to suffer for it. I just wish it actually made me feel better, but all I feel right now is empty and sort of…well evil. This isn't even close to the same as giving Jordan a black eye. That felt good. That felt right. This…this just feels wrong.

So even though I know it's going to make it hurt later, when I'm not a little bit drunk and when I wake up with a sore head, I get up and walk over and put my arms around her. She clutches onto me like a child would and it's so hard to keep hating her. No…not hate. That's too strong a word. I don't hate her. I just wish I did.

* * *

"Stay?" I ask when I'm finally exhausted from crying. Looking up into his ice blue eyes I see that he looks as exhausted as I feel. Shaking his head, he unwinds his lean athletic body from around mine and stretches, his long fingers brushing the ceiling. Watching him, I can't help but wish that I did ache for him. I wish I understood it. He's not so unlike his brother and yet, until he had me pressed against the door earlier, my body just never came alive for him. Not like it does for Jordan.

Jordan who is supposed to be taking me out on our first official date in a few days and will have to face his brother out on the ice. He's asked me to be there, at the game. Seeing the hurt in Marc's eyes now, I don't know that I can.

"I don't want a pity fuck, if that's what you mean," Marc states simply, looking down at me with a mixture of nearly exhausted patience and a deep sadness that makes me feel like I'm going to start crying all over again.

"I wasn't…I just don't want you to go like this. I don't want you to hate me Marc." I look up at him, hoping he can see the truth of my words reflected in my eyes. I feel the back of his hand brush my cheek and can't help but lean into the warmth of it, wanting to feel more than I do, knowing that I don't and never will.

"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?" he says wistfully, a Mona Lisa smile playing across his lips as he cups my cheek. "I mean, we don't want all of this to get any more complicated do we?"

"I'm not tied down to anyone or anything," I say slowly, reaching up to close my fingers around his wrist, feeling his pulse jump at the touch of my skin to his. "And I do love you Marc," I add, turning so that I can press my lips to the palm of his hand. Turning my gaze back up to meet his, I watch the fever spots begin to burn in his cheeks, the tips of his ears turning crimson as his breathing quickens.

"Don't…don't play me Tippie. This isn't a game," he hisses, but notice he doesn't so much as flinch as I move my lips further up his arm, feeling his pulse quicken with each caress.

"I'm not in love with your brother either, but that doesn't mean we can't _make_ love," I suggest quietly without looking up at him, pushing the arm of his shirt up to the inside of his elbow and pressing my lips against the thin skin. "Even if it's only once more, Marc, please?"

Why? Why am I doing this? Why am I torturing both him and myself?

Because I have to know. I have to know if I'm really right, if there really is nothing here to salvage. If my attraction to him is only that, attraction and nothing more, and that I can't make it be what we both want it to be.

And I know it is what we both want, even if we really both know that this is ill fated, that this is already over and beyond repair. Because I really do love him and so I will give him the opportunity to use my body to get his revenge.

It's the least I can do.

* * *

My hands shake as I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. I kiss her like it's the last kiss I'll ever give or receive. I kiss her like my life depends on it. Like her lips are oxygen and I'm a dying man. I kiss her and keep kissing her even though I know it's stupid and that it won't get me anywhere. I kiss her even though the visions of her fucking my brother are still playing somewhere in the back of my mind, mocking me.

I kiss her until we're stumbling into her bedroom, leaving a trail of shed clothing on the floor behind us like some kind of crime scene. I imagine someone drawing chalk outlines around them later. But I don't have time to sulk and feel guilty, not with Tippie pushing me onto her bed, her body falling atop of mine. All I can think about is her, her soft skin, her sweet mouth, her greedy hands moving up my back until I can feel her nails digging into my shoulders as I shove my way inside of her.

It goes against every inclination in my brain, to use her body like this but the red mist has descended again and only part of me has any control over what I'm doing as I bend her nearly in two. I know that my fingers are leaving marks on her thighs as I push them wide apart, barely giving even the most cursory of thoughts for her well being. She can stretch. I've seen her do it. Nor do I take even the slightest heed when I feel her shudder beneath me when I slam into her hard enough that I have tug her back towards me.

All I care about is getting even. All that matters to me is that I'll make Jordan eat his words. It will be his turn to know that I've used her, that I've had her, and all I want in return is to have her scream my name the way Jordan says she screams his.

Even if it means doing the things I told myself I would never do, things that feel strange and alien. Things like pinning her arms to the bed, like biting her neck and shoulders hard enough to leave vivid red welts that I know will turn into bruises before morning.

I do it because I hate to lose and because I've grown up fighting tooth and nail with all of my brothers. I do it because two of my brothers have held up the Cup, have brought it home and even if they didn't mean to, make me feel like I'm not good enough. I do it for my ruined Christmas day. I do it for the sake of my pride.

And as I do it, as I thrust my way inside of her, over and over again, I realize that I'm not in love with her anymore. That those feelings are gone, wiped away by the knowledge that she's been with my brother and that she can't look at me now. Her eyes shut tight as my body presses down overtop of hers', her face turned away from mine as my teeth dig into the curve of her neck. I care, but I don't love her anymore. There are still some tender feelings left but they aren't love.

So even though her back arches and she cries out my name, I realize that it's a hollow victory. I may have wanted revenge but what I really wanted, what I had really come for was her and that's gone from me, forever.

"You see," she whispers as her body wraps around mine, her voice breathless in my ear, "you can do it. You can do it for me." I hold her for a moment, waiting to catch my breath and then I pull away, enough to look down into her glowing face and let her see just what she's done to me. I watch her expression change slowly from satisfied to concern to sadness and then she truly does turn her face from mine. "Go…just…go."

Without a word, I pick up my things, dressing quickly and leaving without another word.

After all, what more is there to say? It's over. Really, truly over.


	16. Chapter 16

_Okay all of you who said you were cheering for Jordan and then were all look poor Marc...well...let's see what you think now._

**Chapter 16 ~ Back in the Saddle **

The crowd stands and cheers as one, beer slopping over the rims of their cups, the sound of hands slapping and men congratulating each other like they had something to do with it filling the air. I barely look up at the screen, concentrating instead on the slightly stale peanuts in their small bowl in the middle of the table, like they're the most interesting things on earth because I can't look at the screen anymore.

Every time I see Marc, my chest begins to hurt, enough that I have to take a deep breath to ease the sharp pain that feels like a knife is being shoved through my ribs.

Every time I see Jordan, my mouth goes dry and a shudder runs down my spine.

Every time I see them at the same time, one or the other of them seem to be intent on putting his brother somewhere near the fifth row, preferably through the glass and with a stick embedded firmly in his back.

I just can't watch anymore. It's too hard. But I'm glad I didn't actually go to the arena to watch this blood bath. Hearing the reverberation of the boards on the television, mostly drowned out by the general buzz in the bar, is bad enough. I think if I'd actually gone to the game, if I was actually sitting near those boards, I would have been taken out on a stretcher by now.

As it is, I'm wishing that I'd taken Ryan and Miki up on their offer to come to the bar with me. At the time it seemed like a better idea for me to do this alone, but right about now, I could do with the distraction, _any_ distraction and I sure as hell could do with a second opinion on whether or not I should go through with meeting Jordan after the game like I'd promised.

Well, half promised.

That conversation hadn't really gone that well. It had started out with just a couple of texts; Jordan offering tickets and my saying no, followed by him asking why. That's when things got sticky.

I didn't want to tell him Marc had forbidden me. Forbidden me, the thought him saying that still made me smile for some odd reason and yet I was willing to go along with it now. Not because he'd forbidden me, but just because it made sense. Like Jordan had said, blood _is_ thicker than water and who the hell am I to appoint myself the oil in that situation? The last thing I want is to come between them and yet, glancing up at the screen in time to see Marc put his younger brother into his own bench head first, it appears that I already have.

Still, I know given time, this too shall pass and they'll figure out some way to forgive each other, but _only_ if stay out of it, which is why I'm sitting in a bar full of testosterone crushing peanuts with my fist.

Of course it's tempting to let Jordan come over tonight and mess up my room and fuck my brains out and I'd probably feel better in the morning but I know I'd also feel guilty as hell and that would ruin any kind of chance at enjoying the afterglow, no matter how earth shattering the sex might be. The problem is I still haven't told him that.

I'd told him to meet me here after the game, a decision I'm beginning to regret. I thought I owed him an explanation, but now I'm thinking about slinking off with my tail between my legs and going into the witness protection program. Not the bravest of stances certainly but from where I'm sitting, I would say it's the safest and most sane option.

Of course it also seems like a shame for Jordan to take such a shit kicking for nothing but that's probably just me looking for an excuse to get into his pants.

Sometimes I can be such a guy.

"Not a hockey fan?"

My hand pauses above a peanut shell and I look up. Way, way up, into a broad smile attached to a blonde haired, blue eyed giant.

"I like hockey," I admit quietly, going back to taking my frustrations out on the peanut, crushing it below my fist and sending at least one of the nuts skipping across the table. I watch it hit the floor with a slight feeling of consternation. I'm glad I'm not actually paying for these things.

"But you're not actually watching the game," he points out unnecessarily as he slides into the empty chair across from me. I look over, and up, at him and find him grinning back at me. Narrowing my eyes at him I shrug.

"I can hear it just fine," I point out, grabbing another peanut and raising my hand over it, poised to smash it but his very long, pale fingers snatch the innocent legume out from under my fist. I look up at him, my lips pursed, but he only smiles innocently back at me and snaps the shell in two, peeling it back to shake the nuts into his mouth.

"I'd hate to see you waste any more of these and I'm kind of afraid me or one of my teammates is going to slip and break something on one of them." My hand pauses over the remaining peanuts in the bowl, mid air as I look back over, and up at him.

"Did you say…team mates?" I ask, to which the young blonde grins back at me and nods as he chews thoughtfully on the nuts. "Please tell me that you play for the Knicks or something."

"Sabres actually."

* * *

"What the fuck Marc?" I snap as I push open the door to the dressing room where he's sitting alone, still in his full kit, staring at the floor.

"What?" he snaps back without so much as looking up at me.

"Have you ever gotten tossed from a game? I mean – _ever_?" I ask, standing over him, waiting for him to look up at me, but he doesn't. He just keeps staring at the spot on the floor between his skates, an ice pack on his knuckles. I should fucking hope so too, I think as I press my own ice pack to the spot on my jaw where those knuckles connected.

"I dunno, maybe once," he shrugs, sliding his swollen hand out from under the ice pack. I wince when I see the bruised and split flesh. Mom is so going to yell at us.

"Well I hope you've got it out of your fucking system. You do realize I'm going to have to do wind sprints in practice tomorrow for this. Thanks for that by the way," I add with a sigh as I take a step towards taking a seat beside him on the bench but he stops me with a look that would frighten small children.

"Just because I'm not yelling doesn't mean I'm not still pissed at you," he hisses threateningly.

"Yeah well, she didn't take my tickets to the game if that makes you feel better." I'm guessing that it doesn't by the way he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me. "Look man, I've said I'm sorry and…."

"Fuck your sorry. Sorry doesn't cut it Jordo. You and Jared, you're always doing stupid shit and you think saying sorry makes it all better. Well it fucking doesn't okay?" He snarls, kicking his skate towards mine. "Don't see her anymore. That might make it better. _Might_," he adds seriously as his gaze searches mine to see if I'm going to give in. For a minute, a long minute, I think about telling him how I'm supposed to meet her at a bar nearby but then I decide not to poke the bear some more tonight."Whatever man. If you're going to see her just…just don't tell me…don't tell me _anything_."

Figuring that's probably the closest I'm going to get to him giving me his blessing, I keep my mouth shut and back out of the room.

I may have been tossed out during the second period and had a fight with my brother that I'm sure is going to cause me more grief with my family but some good has to come out of all of this. I get more time with Tippi before curfew.

* * *

"No, no hockey players." Downing the rest of my drink I push my chair back and reach for my purse but his long arm is there first and I'm suddenly standing there, looking up, way, way up at a purse snatching hockey player that's tall enough to play center for any professional basketball team in the NBA.

"Do you want me to scream?" I ask, holding my hand out for my purse. I only realize that I walked straight into that one when the corner of his full lips turns up in a smirk.

"Maybe later," he purrs, holding my purse towards me but still out of my reach. "But maybe you wanna dance or have a game of pool first?"

"So the part about no hockey players, that didn't sink in…Stretch?" I ask, reaching for my purse again, only to have him pull it back and out of my reach. Not nice, _so_ not nice. I pull my leg back, ready to give him a good solid kick to the shins but he laughs and shakes his head at me.

"So you're telling me that you were checking out my ass since the middle of the first period and now I don't even get to buy you a drink?" he asks, that big grin on his face growing wider as I feel my cheeks burn in frustration.

"I was…," my voice trails away as I realize that I had been doing that very thing. I mean, not really intentionally but I had definitely had a couple of peeks at it while I was ignoring the television screens. "Well so what if I was? It wasn't an invitation."

"So an attractive woman like you, sitting on her own, checking out my ass…and you're going home _alone_?" he asks, his eyebrows raising above his blue eyes as he lets the question hang in the air between us. I look up at his young, boyish face with its high sharp cheekbones and his full sensuous mouth and suddenly I think – why not? I'd been thinking all night how frustrated I was going to be, having to tell Jordan that I couldn't have sex with _him_ so why not?

"No," I say quietly, holding my hand out for my purse but taking a couple of steps closer to this tall, tall young man, "you're coming home with me. But I'm not playing pool or dancing and I don't want to know your name either and I'm not telling you mine. No names, that's my rule."

"Well if that's the rule then I guess I'll just have to call you Goddess," he says quietly as he wraps his long arm around my waist and goes in for a kiss. Arching my back and turning my head I give him my cheek and nothing more. Not here anyway.

"And I'll call you Lurch if you keep this up. Now c'mon, before the third period, you're blocking everyone's view. Shit…what do they feed you kids these days? How the hell do you all get so damn tall? And don't say anything about everyone being the same size lying down or I'll leave without you."

* * *

I scan the crowd again but don't see her. Still, I delve into the crowd, searching table to table, but still don't turn up anyone that even looks like her. Not that that's really possible. I mean, how many six foot Asian goddesses are there?

Giving up, I take out my cell phone and try her number, listening more for something ringing around me but I don't hear that or voice mail. The line just goes dead.

"Been stood up?" I look down at a curvy blonde wiggling her way towards me and just shake my head. If I still have even the slightest chance at having filet mignon, I'm not going to settle for a burger.

"No, pretty sure I just got my wires crossed. Thanks," I add backing out of the bar and onto the street to hire a cab thinking that I'm glad I'd missed her earlier when I'd called her place. Her roommate had given me the address. I was going to send a car for her until she called me and told me she wasn't going to make the game.

She probably worked even later than she had planned to, I think as I give the driver the address from my blackberry. She's probably home getting changed. Girl s can take forever at that shit. I'll just surprise her.

Besides, that's just less time for small talk at the bar and more time we can spend fucking like energizer bunnies I think to myself as I settle back into the seat , grinning to myself.

* * *

"Holy shit!" I breathe, feeling the slick tile against my back as he presses me against the wall, feeling the tiles rolling up and down my back as I he – for lack of a better term – bounces me up and down on his cock as the steam of the shower surrounds us. "Does your dick ever go down?"

"Not when I've got something as hot as you on it, no," he grins at me as he nips at my bottom lip. Holding on for dear life, I tighten my grip around his neck and try to ignore the cooling water dripping into my eyes.

"I don't suppose you ever get tired either?" I whimper as I feel him slide up into me or me down onto him. I can't really tell which way is up now never mind anything else. All I do know if that his fingers and his neck aren't the only long things on his body and I'm getting close to cumming for fifth time already and he doesn't seem to need any recovery time at all.

"Not really," he laughs, letting me down only long enough to press me face forward against the slick tiles, stepping between my feet and pulling my hips up so that he can push himself into me from behind. Moaning, I close my eyes and press my forehead against the tiles, which are still warm despite the water having gone cold.

"Oh holy shit it feels even bigger from that angle!" I groan, reaching up to grab onto the shower head with ne hand, anything to hold onto. Not that I actually believe Stretch will let me fall. My other hand reaches for the shower curtain, not even caring if I pull it down, but it isn't there.

Opening my eyes, I look for the curtain but where it should be is Jordan, and he doesn't look even a little happy.


	17. Chapter 17

_I feel like I can win! First it's awwww Marc and then it's what's Jordy ever done to you? Well...here goes nothin_'

**Chapter 17 ~ Second Chance**

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Who the fuck is he?"

We both yell at the same time and yet hear each other perfectly. I decide to ignore her question, for now, deciding that the fact that she has some spider monkey's dick in her should be my first priority.

"Rook, do me a favor and get your dick out of my girlfriend," I sigh, giving him my elder brother Eric's look of pure disdain. The one that he always gives the rookies, just so they know who's boss. The one he used to give me and my brothers when he didn't want us to question his grand plans, the ones that usually ended up with me and Jared catching shit for something. It always worked though, and it seems to work now as the tall skinny rookie, all arms and legs and neck, scrambles out of the tub, grabbing a towel off of the rack, which I rip out of his hands and offer to Tippie instead. His nudity I don't really notice. I'm used to being around naked guys. Hers I enjoy, but not right now. Not in front of him.

"Pardon?" Tippie almost chokes as her eyes get even wider as I hand her the towel. "_Girlfriend_? What the fuck do you mean _girlfriend_?"

"How about we save the adult talk until your little friend here has found his pants and crawled back into whatever kindergarten class you pulled him out of," I snarl, staring the tall geeky down as he scrambles to gather all of his clothes, forcing myself not to smile triumphantly as he shoots me an apologetic glance or two.

"He doesn't have to go anywhere. You…you can stay. Jordan you leave," Tippie snaps, wrapping the towel around herself and hugging it close around her body, her actions belying her words.

"He's not an idiot, are you Myers? There's three of us in the league, well maybe four if Jared gets his thumb out, and you may be tall but you aren't too big to knock over are you Myers and you know what they say about guys as tall as you? They taller they are the harder they fall," I add with a menacing glare. The one I use on opposition players across the face-off circle. The one Eric learned to fear during the series last season.

"You know my name?" the kid asks, his eyes round, a little smile tugging at the corners of his too pink lips. I have to laugh. Suddenly the fact that I know who he is seems more important than the fact that I should be kicking his ass right now.

"Yeah I do. I make it my business to know whose ass I'm going to be kicking next game and believe me, I'm going to kick yours all around the rink. But I'll start kicking it right now if you don't _get the_ _fuck_ _out of here_," I growl, taking a step towards him that sends him hopping down the hall, one long leg into his jeans, the other still half into his boxers. I'd laugh if I wasn't so damn pissed off right now. "You should learn to lock the door behind you," I sigh, turning back to look at Tippie, her long ebony hair dripping down over her shoulders, a pool of water forming at her feet. "No matter how eager you are to get into some kid's pants. It's not safe. You _are_ in New York, remember," I add, reaching to pull another towel off of the rack and using it to rub her hair dry.

Astonishingly she stays still while I do it. Still and silent even though I can feel the tension vibrating off of her in waves. I can understand the feeling. What I want to do is scream at her, shake her, admonish her, but I don't.

For one thing, I'm fairly sure it wouldn't do me any good. The stubborn and angry expression on her pretty face makes that fairly clear. Secondly, she's right. We haven't exactly made the parameters of our relationship clear. Or at least I haven't laid out my boundaries, yet. But I'm about to.

"I thought you didn't just do random one night stands. I thought you said that I was your only one," I begin, once I'm sure that everything she's going to let me reach, for now, is dry. Folding the towel back up, I drape it over the rack and then turn back to see her dark eyes watching me, warily. "So what was Stretch supposed to do here? Make me jealous? Because if that _was_ your plan then I have to tell you that it didn't really work out that well. I mean, he's just a kid. He might be a couple inches taller than me but he'd blow over in a spring breeze."

"Fuck you, you don't own me," she snarls, but something in her face tells me that she's not that upset with my finding her 'in flagrante delicto'. There's a fire in her eyes that I recognize and my body is already reacting to the challenge I see in the way she holds her chin high and her lips pursed.

"Is that what you want?" I whisper, taking the single step required to invade her personal space and grabbing hold of her shoulders, digging my fingers into her cool, pale flesh until she lets out a long low hiss and I feel a sort of shiver run along her skin and I know it isn't just the water cooling on her skin that's causing it. "Do you want me to mark you again? Own you again? Is that what you want?"

"Fuck you Jordan," she hisses, but doesn't try to get away, doesn't even so much as twitch a single muscle.

"I plan for you to," I reply with a grin, capturing her mouth with mine and kissing her, _hard_.

* * *

I'd had second thoughts the moment the kid started kissing me in the taxi. It was all sloppy and wet and the kid had absolutely no technique at all.

Sure, his hands seemed to know what to do and by the time we'd made it back to my apartment I was willing to admit that I wanted him to fuck me, but I also knew that either I was never going to want to see him again or he was going to need some serious training. Sure, there's a certain amount of je ne sais quoi to the whole fumbling teenage heat thing, but it wasn't what I wanted, not what I needed.

So I had to admit that I wasn't that upset to see Jordan. Sure I was embarrassed, even humiliated, for a moment or two. Only until I could see that, despite how cool he was trying to play it, that it really bothered him to see the tall gangly youth in the place he obviously that as his rightful position.

My mouth even went dry as he ordered the rookie out. Just the way he did it, the self assured tone that was in direct contradiction to the way his hands shook as he ran the towel over my hair and shoulders. I even allowed myself a little grin as he knelt to dry my legs but bit back a sigh as the towel went up to my thighs.

By the time he puts the towel back on the rack and turns back to me, I'm nearly quivering with anticipation. God I'm such a whore.

"So what was Stretch supposed to do here? Make me jealous? Because if that _was_ your plan then I have to tell you that it didn't really work out that well. I mean, he's just a kid. He might be a couple inches taller than me but he'd blow over in a spring breeze." He sounds tough, and I have no doubt in my mind that he means it. The kid will definitely suffer an ass whooping for his troubles, but I've almost forgotten him already as I look up into Jordan's blue eyes to see how hard he's fighting to control the anger and the desire, to not let one win out over the other and I find that I don't even care which emotion wins out, as long as he takes them out on me.

"Fuck you, you don't own me," I snarl, holding my head high, daring him to contradict me, and at the same time, to prove that he does. God help me but I want him to prove that he does. It's all I can do to stand there and say nothing else, to not drop the towel and beg him to ravage me as his ice sky blue gaze roams over me, slowly, appraisingly, like he's trying to decide where to start. His gaze is like a touch and it makes me want to squirm.

"Is that what you want?" His voice is husky and barely above a whisper as he takes a step towards me, a step that brings his chest into contact with mine and his long, thick fingers dig into my shoulders, almost painfully. But it's a sweet pain. A pain that makes me shudder, almost makes me moan out loud and it's all I can do to only take a long shuddering breath instead of begging him to do whatever he wants. "Do you want me to mark you again? Own you again? Is that what you want?"

I want to nod like a bobble head. I want to jump up and down and clap and say yes over and over again like an eager little kid. I want to moan and beg him to fuck me. Instead I steel myself and stare him down, leveling my gaze at him and biting back everything else.

"Fuck you Jordan," I hiss back at him, hoping that my eagerness doesn't quite show through and god help me, I love the spark of rage that lights in his blue eyes.

"I plan for you to." He grins menacingly, but with a promise in his eyes that makes my knees go weak and if it wasn't for his firm, nearly painful grip on my shoulders, I think they may have actually given out on me. Then he kisses me, pressing his lips down over mine hard enough to bruise but I don't fight him then. I let him in, opening my lips and reaching for his tongue with mine. He moans into my mouth, like he's grateful, just like a dying man would if offered water, and then he sweeps me off of my feet and carries me into the hallway. "Which one?" he asks, like he can't make a whole sentence, and I know the feeling, I can only point. I don't trust my lips to form anything that doesn't resemble 'fuck me'.

He backs into my room and lowers me onto the bed, kneeling over me as I let the towel fall open. He licks his lips, as if he's getting ready to taste a feast, and then he falls on me like a rabid dog, biting and growling and I hear my own voice letting loose similar sounds of need as I rip and tear at his clothes, just as eager to get at him as he is at me.

He barely manages to kick his suit pants down to his knees before he pulls my hips towards him, impaling my body on his, and both of us let out a groan of relief and just lay there for a long moment, his forehead pressed to mine.

"No one ever gets to do this but me," he whispers at last, his lips pressing to my temple, my eyelids, my cheek and at last my mouth. "No one, ever, promise me," he whispers against my lips as we begin to move in unison. "Promise me Tippi," he insists, his blue gaze searching mine earnestly as he holds his lips just over mine. At first I can't say anything. The fear gripping my heart makes it impossible to breathe let alone speak. Then, as his body stills, waiting for my response, I feel the tears begin to spill as I nod.

"I love you," I sniff, turning my face away so he can't see how vulnerable I am when I say it but his big hand cups my cheek and turns my gaze back to meet his.

"And I love you. Only you, so much," he breathes, kissing away my tears.

* * *

"I'll figure something out," I promise her as we stand in her doorway, my hand cupping her cheek, her eyes closes, a quirky little smile on her pretty face.

"You will? I'm the one with the job and the great apartment. How about you ask for a trade, straight up for Marc?" she suggests as her smile grows and her eyes opens to look up at me.

"I don't want to play for the Rangers, are you kidding me?" I laugh, leaning down to press my lips to hers' again, feeling my pulse double as her lips open and her tongue reaches for mine. Groaning, I push her back, knowing if I give into her that I'll end up missing the train and end up in a world of trouble, probably even facing a suspension. Part of me thinks it would be worth it, but most of me knows that I can't do it.

"So we'll just see how it goes, for a while?" she asks, looking disappointed as I hold her at arms' length.

"Kind of like I thought we'd agreed before?" I tease, raising my eyebrow only to have her roll her dark eyes at me.

"We talked about it, I don't think we actually agreed on anything," she replies stubbornly, meeting my gaze with one that I'm guessing she thinks looks defiant but I can see the playfulness leaking into her gaze and the slight upturn of her full, pink lips.

"Well I hope we have this time," I reply seriously, raising my eyebrow again as I wait for her to answer me which she does, eventually by shrugging her shoulders and giving me that Mona Lisa smile that doesn't really give too much away except that I've seen it too many times so I know that it only hides a bigger smile, a happy smile. "At least promise me I won't come back from Buffalo to find you with some other rookie in my place."

"Well I guess that depends," she says, and I can see that she's fighting not to let her grin grow any wider.

"On?" I ask, letting my fingers trail down her neck to her collarbone, watching the goose-bumps rise on her skin and her eyes flutter shut.

"If you really love me," she says quietly and for the very first time I see insecurity flash through her dark eyes and it makes me wrap her up in my arms.

Kissing the top of her head I squeeze her tight.

"Crazy woman, I don't think I could love you more," I whisper, still amazed that the words are coming out of my mouth. I had no intention of settling down when came here tonight, but I suddenly feel like I don't want to let go of her, don't want to leave her and the way her arms are holding me tight, I'm hoping she feels the same way. "So no more rookies, promise me," I add, tilting her gaze up to meet mine. She smiles, despite the tears shimmering in her dark eyes.

"I promise," she says quietly, offering her sweet, soft lips up to mine.


End file.
